Collide
by sparzelli
Summary: “Insert a Casey-esque joke about how ‘he’ and ‘logistics’ and ‘understood’ should never go in the same sentence. He knows her so well it’s disgusting.” - The ballad of Casey and Derek. -
1. one

When they ask him how it started, he can't answer them. It's not that he doesn't know, it's just that there's _too much_. It makes him sorry because it _deserves_ an explanation, but there aren't any words he can think of. None at all.

So he says, it's kind of like that poem that Robert Frost wrote – the one where he wants to walk through the dark forest with all the gloomy-ass trees unto the edge of doom. Or something. Because Robert Frost was fully content with never turning back, completely sure of who and what he was inside his world in those dark, dark woods, and that the direction he was headed was the right way to go. At least for one poem.

Or like that Iris song. Because all at once, he _had_ wanted to give up forever, and he just-

He stops.

Okay.

It's-

Okay. Alright.

He takes a deep breath…

And tries to explain.

* * *

"**No one ever tells you that forever feels like home."**

* * *

Derek looked at her for the first time – _really_ looked at her – the first day of their senior year.

It was the strangest experience he'd ever had, except for one time when his dad tricked him into eating worms like noodles and he threw up fordays, and this made him even sicker than that because he didn't understand. Worms were easy. He studied them in first grade science and he knew they had segmented bodies and that they had no eyes and everything – he _got _it, even though he failed first grade _and_ that class – and he understood how they _worked._ He got the logistics. The _principles._

Insert a Casey-esque joke about how 'he' and 'logistics' and 'understood' should never go in the same sentence. He knows her so well it's disgusting. Case in point – the joke would be terrible. She is a lot of things, and funny is not one of them.

But anyways.

He was walking to meet Sam and saw him with Casey a ways down the hallway, and for a moment he froze and underwent a fucking _weird_ epiphany thing – seriously, after all that had happened in the past, this was the least of what he expected – and he saw the way her hair caught on star-shaped earrings, he saw the way her long dancer's legs took light steps down the tile, and he saw how straight and even her teeth were when she smiled at Sam. He was practically waxing poetic in his head at the sight of her. He was muttering nonsensical nothings under his breath. If he were right in the head, he might have slapped himself.

He saw every bit of her all over again, including the sloping of her backside and the utterly irresistible curve of her chest and abdomen. His whole brain shut down for a moment – because she was beautiful. Exasperating and OCD and a keener, but perfect and content in everything she did, even in fretting and worrying.

The rest of the day he felt as if he were drowning. And this was the worst part: he didn't know what to call it. He had no words to describe what had happened. If there was one thing Derek Venturi hated, it was being rendered speechless.

Well – okay, maybe he was being somewhat dramatic. He had _words_, sure – he threw around lust and sex drive and attraction and briefly mulled over the idea of being romantically inclined towards her, but in the end nothing covered what he was looking at. He felt like he could have slept on a dozen dictionaries and thesauruses stacked up so high with their thick, dry pages that his neck broke in his sleep and he _still_ wouldn't absorb the full definition. Even though Casey said that textbook-under-the-pillow osmosis didn't work, he was determined to prove her wrong – at least that little part of them hadn't changed. Or maybe not even them. Maybe just him.

The scent of her perfume drifted over to him whenever she walked by and he was dizzy. The stars around his head and behind his eyes became a perpetual annoyance, and he debated waiting until 11:11 to make a wish – but wait, wasn't that two different superstitions? –Although he wasn't sure if he was okay with pushing his crappy deal onto lady luck. Bad karma and all that.

Casey got into the prince at the end of the day to go home and he was silent. The skin of her leg was far too inviting to him, sitting exposed from a plaid skirt. It was disconcerting to him that she was so suddenly _attractive._ And not even just hot, he wanted to like…hold her hand and shit. Ugh.

She acted normal, and he pretended that he was normal through his struggle not to look at her, but she managed to squeeze in a few insults if only to prod him into talking before they pulled into the driveway. He figured that in the long run, it was better that he hadn't said anything at all.

He was sitting in his recliner watching a hockey game when Casey came and sat on the couch, strangely quiet. His heart sped up – imperceptibly to her, aggravating and almost painful to him – and he rolled his eyes out of reflex. It made him feel a little bit better. She was silent for almost five minutes, pretending to be interested in the game. When two of the players got into a fight she shuddered and looked at him.

"How can you stand to _watch_ that?" she asked.

"Watch people fight?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. It's a nice break to watch other people fight instead of doing it with you all the time," he retorted. She hadn't even done anything wrong and he was already pushing her buttons. It was a typical and exhausted routine – he _worshipped_ it.

Casey huffed and crossed her arms. He spared her a glance and winced. Her hair was straight and it fell down to her lower back. He had never noticed how pretty it was before.

His wince became a cringe.

"What are you frowning at, Derek? Or is the television finally melting your brain? Not that you had much to start with…" she scoffed. He turned back to the game and swallowed thickly. His mouth was like a desert, suddenly.

"Shutup, Spacey," he finally managed. Why was he so damn thirsty…? It had been all of two minutes and she had already reduced him to a quivering mass of…pathetic, hormone-ruled teenager. He was going to kill her.

He got up without saying a word and went into the kitchen. She trailed after him.

"Okay, can I help you with something? You interrupted and ruined my game, and now you're going to ruin my time in here too? What the hell is wrong with you?"

She didn't even flinch.

"Nothing is wrong with me, Derek. And for your information, I don't need your help with anything. I was just…hanging out," she finished lamely.

"Bullshit."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You always want something."

"I do not!"

"God, you are so aggravating." _Lies lies lies_

"Thanks a lot, Derek. It's not like you're all that fun to be around."

"Then why are you here! What could you possibly want from me, if I'm no fun?"

"I – why were you all weird in the car today?" she spluttered. "It was weird, okay? I hate when you're all tense and quiet like that."

He stood up straighter. He had gotten a carton of juice out of the fridge and it now sat on the counter, completely forgotten.

"I was not 'all weird', Casey."

She rose an eyebrow.

"For your information," his voice rose in a cheap imitation of hers, "I got into an argument with Sam. About some stuff." _Lies lies lies_

"Oh really? Because I talked to Sam earlier and he said he had no idea what was up with you."

Damn. She had gotten to Sam first.

He looked at her. If he could have, he would have burnt holes into her face. "Why were you poking around in my business?"

"Because I was worried! What it so bad that you're lying about it?"

"It's not like it's a rare freaking occurrence for me to lie to you, Case," he sneered. She was pushing him too far. He was going to snap and smack her or something. _Or something._

"It's a rare freaking occurrence for you to let something bother you that much, so please do me a favor and just tell me?" she sighed. He blew a piece of hair out of his eye and looked at her. _Really_ looked at her, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

"Just…it's nothing. Drop it."

"But Derek-"

"Casey, goddammit, drop it and leave me alone!"

He stormed out of the room, leaving her somewhat strangled. And he was still thirsty. Nobody ever won between the two of them.

Needless to say, the next week or so was a little tense. She was walking on eggshells. But not carefully. Oh, no, that would be too much to ask of her. She didn't get her way, so she had to make everything as difficult as possible for him. She was loud as hell. Deafening. She would walk past him with her nose held high and her eyes drifting in his direction – to see if she was making him feel bad or guilty or some shit, no doubt – and she would 'hmph!' and frown and it pissed him off. A lot. She was so obnoxious sometimes he wanted to grab her by her hair and –

Slap her. Or something. _Or something._

So just to be obnoxious right back, he waited until she was in the shower and he darted in while she was humming songs from 'The Sound of Music' and took all of her clothes, and all of the towels, and he darted right back out with a snicker and he put them all where they should go. Linens closet, laundry basket and everything. She had no evidence. Ha!

He heard a frustrated yell come from the bathroom 15 minutes later and he laughed out loud. "Music to my ears…" he muttered. He went back to flipping through a magazine.

His door was thrown open and it hit the wall with a resounding 'thud' that shook the floor. He looked up casually to see Casey standing huddled and shivering in a mat that had previously been on the bathroom floor.

He smirked at her. "Goodness, you have no idea what disgusting, revolting, grimy, nasty _bathroom_ germs could be on that, Casey!"

She looked at the mat with a horrified look before turning back to him, seething. "If you think that this is the appropriate way to respond to me asking you 'what's wrong' then you are sadly mistaken," she said through her teeth.

"Oh, because those stupid looks you have been giving me all day were _totally_ the right response. My bad, Case, you were right. Not."

"Derek, sometimes I just want to – ugh!"

She stormed out of the room.

"You too, dear sister!"

And that is where things got tricky. _That _is where the fun began.

She flew back into the doorframe and he stood in challenge.

"I am _not_ your sister!"

"Yeah, you're right. Marti is my sister. You're just a pain in the ass," he amended. She glared.

Her and Marti in the same category…ew. Marti was his little baby sister – he loved her to death. Casey was…

Well, whatever.

"You know, I always wanted a brother. To bad I got some demented _Satan spawn_ instead_!_" She reached forward to punch his shoulder with her fist and he caught her deftly.

"Careful now, wouldn't want your little rug to fall off."

He wanted it to. If he could find a way to make it fall off, he'd feel _so_ much better. The prospect of relief flooded his mind and made him sigh a little.

Her face screwed up in a grimace of disgust. He grinned cheekily at her, and without thinking, she shoved forward and they both toppled to the floor. She reached up with her other hand to hit him in the face – and he caught that wrist, too. Her body was pressed to him, and the rug was in place only because of the lack of space between them. It had nowhere to go. She struggled to get away from him, and he smiled.

"You want me to let go? Okay, here," he said easily. He shrugged and crossed his arms. She flew backwards and the rug flew the opposite way. She instantly curled up and tried to cover as much of her body as possible. But it wasn't fast enough for Derek to miss _everything_.

He smirked at her as her face stained a pretty pink.

"Pervert," she accused.

"You let it happen."

He stood and stared down at her. "What now, Casey?"

She examined him, chewed over her options for a moment, bit her lip a little – he shivered at that – and looked up at him, staring down at her. She stood slowly, deliberately, and when she had reached her full height she moved towards him.

"Is that what you wanted?"

He kept his eyes on hers, but the peripherals were making him _crazy_.

"Me, naked?"

She was close enough that he felt her body heat envelope him. It was viciously uncomfortable, but he also twitched with the need to reach out and run his finger down her arm, to her fingertips, and trace the lines in her palm. Trace the veins back up her arm and through her chest, through her entire body…he wanted to etch a map into her skin, to tell people he had been there, and she was his. He shook his head to clear the thoughts.

"You should have just said so," her words and her face were meant to be like venom. The iciness of her voice hit him like bricks. But her body gave away what she was really thinking.

She shook and he reached out a hand to wrap around her waist, the other reaching down to rest on her hip. His fingers smoothed back and forth in an effort to sooth her, and he rubbed her hipbone until she was rocking unconsciously towards him.

And he said very, very quietly: "I didn't know what I wanted. How was I supposed to tell you?"

She studied him carefully. After a small fluttering of her eyelashes he moved his hands to her lower back and pressed her to him. She let her head fall on his shoulder. He ached for her. And he was suddenly exhausted.

When he let her go, she reached down and picked up a t-shirt off the floor and pulled it over her head. It covered everything.

She left without a word.

* * *

So, he tells them, the next step is the easiest to predict. Because she's Casey and thinks that anything out of the norm and unexpected is completely _wrong_, she pretended it never happened. And because he's Derek, he floundered for air, drowning in her wake as she sped away, and he waited and waited for her to come back even though she was light years away.

They raise their eyebrows at this – Derek, _floundering_ for air?

But, he assures them, that is what it was really like. And since they wanted the _full_ story, the _full_ story was what they were going to get.

* * *

Two Saturdays later, he was at a party somebody from the hockey team threw and she showed up with Kendra. She was wearing a bandana shirt and a little black skirt that made him sorry. He had no doubt that Kendra was the one responsible for her smoky eyes and loose confidence. He sipped at his beer and hung with Sam and the others, and she spent nearly an hour in the throng of people gyrating and dancing to the too heavy music with too much bass. He never particularly liked his music to have too much bass. And honestly, he only came to parties to get shit-faced and meet girls. He didn't have _that_ much fun.

He looked away from her for a moment when he heard Sam's voice.

"Hey D," he started.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You seem kind of distracted."

"Distracted?" Derek frowned.

"Well, maybe not distracted. Maybe more like preoccupied. I don't know, man, what's up?"

Derek sighed and pulled him away from the crowd a little bit.

"Dude, if I tell you can you not, like, flip a shit on me?"

"Just tell me. You're honestly kinda freaking me out."

"It's Casey," he confessed.

Sam blinked and stared at him, giving him a weird look.

"What about her?"

"She's just…"

"Her being a problem is nothing new," Sam mused.

"Dude, I know, it's different. Just listen for a sec. I'm starting to have…these weird thoughts. I'm turning into one of those douchey guys from the books she reads."

His mind flits briefly to Ivanhoe and he shudders.

Sams eyes widened. "You don't mean to tell me…"

"Yeah, man. I do."

"You _like_ her?"

"Don't say it like that, Sam! I don't even know if it deserves to be called 'like'! It doesn't deserve a name!"

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know! I'm just _freaking out!_ I don't know what to do with her!"

"Okay, just calm down. Tell me how this all started…"

Sam spun the cup of beer in his hands, watching the froth tip back and forth. He mulled over what Derek had told him and took a breath to speak, and –

Said nothing. He sighed.

"See? I told you. There's no words for it," Derek said. He was almost to the point of tearing his hair out. He had lost sight of Casey some time ago, and the urge to see her was making him crazy. He hated this.

Sam just stared into the cup.

"…Sam? Buddy?"

He looked up. "I never got to see her naked. What the hell, man? How unfair is that?"

Derek paused and chuckled a little. Sensitive, sweet Sam, craving Casey's naked body just like the rest of them. "Well, to be fair, dude, I live with her. I see her come out of the shower all the time. Usually she's just…a little more covered up."

"You brought _that_ whole thing on yourself," Sam frowned.

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Well, it didn't help you any, did it? You're worse off now than you were before. Tell me if the weird shit between you two now was worth seeing her naked," he demanded.

Derek considered that for a moment before throwing his hands up in the air.

"Okay! It wasn't worth it. But I wouldn't take back holding her like that for…oh god, see? This sappy shit is coming back, Sammy, you need to hit me or something. Punch me, just do it, lay one right on – "

Sam grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "D, calm the hell down! It sounds to me like you need to find her and talk to her, okay? Just…find out where you stand. And what she's thinking. Okay? And for god's sake don't give her any of that poetic shit until you know you aren't going to make an idiot of yourself."

Derek nodded. "Okay. Okay. I'll go find her."

"'Atta boy," Sam smiled. He clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm off. See you man. And thank you."

Sam nodded as Derek turned and eyed the crowd for Casey. She was nowhere to be found. His head swam with discomfort at the idea of her being upstairs with somebody, or downstairs with the kids smoking and doing god knows what else. He figured that he should find Kendra and ask her.

He saw her blonde hair through a thick crowd of brunettes and he moved towards her.

"Kendra!" He called out. She looked up, eyes alighting with happiness when they fell on him. He almost took a step back – he didn't need any of her drunken ramblings tonight, dating her had been strange enough – but then remembered his mission and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said.

"Derry! How _are_ you?" She was drunk, he could tell, and she was excited and bouncing and the beer in her cup was spilling over onto her hands. He looked at the guys she had been talking to earlier and hoped nothing had been put in there. Annoying as she was, Kendra was his friend. He took the cup from her hand and poured it into a plant, discarding the empty container. She pouted, but said nothing.

"Good. Listen, have you seen Casey?"

She rolled her eyes. "Still always lookin' for Case, are you?" She smiled. "I think I saw her go upstairs with a guy, like, five minutes ago. You could probably catch her, although I don't think I would go up there if I were you – she seemed to be having a good time," Kendra laughed. Derek looked towards the stairs with a grimace.

"Just like you are, huh? Stay safe, Kendra, okay?" Derek left her standing alone and ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He heard a muffled 'Bye, Derry!' chasing his back, but he let it go.

He was practically livid. He didn't want her with another guy in some strange person's bedroom, had he taught her nothing? His previous fears about Kendra came back full force, and he hoped to hell that she hadn't been given anything, that she was at least smart enough to pour her own drink instead of having somebody hand one to her –

He opened door after door, each scene an instant replay of the last, until he found her. He sighed, relieved at first.

And then the full reality of the situation hit him in the face like the punch Sam never gave him – how many times did he have to ask before he got what he wanted, already? Sheesh – and he clenched his fists.

* * *

He takes a little break here and gets some water. This is one of the hardest parts of the story to tell. He doesn't want them to know.

They look worried, but who wouldn't be? It's the perfect setup for the worst setup in the world. He sits back down and begins again.

* * *

He saw Casey lying on the bed, head lolling and eyes drifting open and closed, and a guy he had never seen before hovering over her, hands drifting to places that Derek knew Casey would not have approved of, if she wasn't completely _fucked._

"Get your hands off of her," he growled. The guy looked up and frowned.

"Who the hell are you? Why don't you escort yourself out so I don't have to get up and do it myself."

He turned back to Casey, efficiently ignoring Derek, and only succeeding in making him that much more angry.

"I said get off of her, man." He went to the bed and grabbed the guy by his shirt. "Or are you fucking _deaf?_"

"What are you _doing_?" he seethed. "Don't touch me."

"What the hell did you give her?" He demanded. He pulled the guy to his face and glared. "It would be in your best interest to tell me," he added.

The guy glowered. "X, man. She said she wanted to party…I gave her what she wanted." He pulled Derek's hands off his shoulders and shot a disgusted look at Casey before moving to leave.

"She's a slut anyway. She's not worth a damn thing."

Derek shook and lunged for him. He punched him solidly in the face and threw him out the door. "She is _not_ a slut. And she is worth more than you will ever be."

He slammed the door and locked it. He knew better than to get into a full-blown fight – it was hockey season. He turned to the bed with shaking hands and ran one through his hair.

"Casey, casey, casey," he murmured, panicking. He went to the bed and pulled her hair off her face. She opened her eyes lazily and looked at him.

"You're not Dan," she accused sleepily. He shook his head. He would chew her out _like some shit_ later. Right now, he needed to take her home. He took her hand and pulled her up into his arms and examined her. He briefly debated taking her to the hospital instead, but he figured that the legal trouble they would be in for alcohol and drugs outweighed the chances that she would be okay. He would take her home. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam.

When he answered, Derek sighed.

"Sammy, I need your help again."

* * *

He gets lectured here about the hospital. In fact, he gets grounded for a month for lying about what had happened at the party, for letting it happen, _and_ for not taking her to the doctor. Casey gets two weeks and he almost yells about the unfairness of it all – and by it all, he means _everything_ – but he isn't going to lose his cool until at least the climax. Just wait.

* * *

He managed to sneak Casey into the house without them getting noticed. He brought her to her room and set her down on the bed, and he was going to help her change clothes – he had seen her naked once, underwear couldn't possibly count – when she called his name.

"Derek," she mumbled. He brought a t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts and sat down next to her.

"Yeah?"

"What happened," she moaned and turned over to face him. She put a hand on her head and eyed the clothes with a small 'thank you'.

"A guy, who I'm guessing was named Dan, gave you ecstasy. And I found you and brought us home." Her eyes widened and she sat up, reaching to him for support. He put a hand on her back and pulled her horrified, shaking body upwards.

"I – ecstasy? – how – Derek, I was – "

"I found you and stopped him before he could do anything, that's one thing you don't have to worry about." He couldn't help the pride that tinged his words, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I feel so – violated – and – "

"Casey, it's going to be alright, okay? Just breathe."

She started to cry. He flinched away involuntarily, but somehow managed to wipe away the tears. He didn't say a word and she rocked back and forth until the crying ebbed into shaky breaths.

"You should get some rest," he told her. She nodded and lay down.

"Don't leave until I'm asleep."

Her voice was commanding and regretful, and it made him bring a hand up to the back of his head in an act of discomfort. He looked down at her, wounded and vulnerable, and there was no way he could have said no.

"Okay," he resigned. He watched her eyes close and her breathing hitch until, minutes later, it evened out. He gently ran his knuckles down the length of her arm before turning off the light and leaving for his own room.

* * *

At this point, he says, school was becoming a questionable responsibility. Like, you know those times when there are things going on that you feel are too big to be overshadowed by academics? Where you only have to get through the school day just so you can go home, or go deal with whatever is happening? School is the last thing on your mind. That's what it was like. Other things were shut down in the face of whatever was happening with Casey.

They understand, sort of – they were young once, he knows. But it's hard to explain. He has plenty of words now; he just can't seem to get them out correctly.

Insert a Casey-esque joke about how it's because his brain can't function correctly, if he ever had one at all, ha!

Now where has he heard _that_ before…?

The joke, the punch line, the kicker – you'll think it's hilarious, trust him – they don't understand that last part at _all_.

And that is the absolute _best_ part.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Music belongs to Stone Sour. Copyrighted materials not mine.


	2. two

They stare at him dumbfounded. How long does this go on, they ask? When does it end? He answers with a coy smile.

Oh, he says. It doesn't really _end_. He laughs.

So, after another water break, he gets back to the story. They look at him with cautious eyes and he holds his hands up, quelling their fears with a quick smile. He tells them that they shouldn't worry, that party was one of the worst things that happened. And look, they heard it and digested it and are ready to move on so quickly! Right? He's right, yeah? He usually is. He's absolutely _bursting_ with pride. He congratulates himself with a pat on the back and a sip of his water.

He starts the next part by saying that it's like pulling off a band-aid real quick. When they ask him what the hell he's talking about, he says that he means this thing with Casey, of course. It's freaky and weird at first, and he for one had closed his eyes and held his breath and pulled it off _real quick_ – dove right on in – whatever. He laughs at his analogies and they roll their eyes.

But he digresses. Enough of that.

* * *

"**Let me be the curse that creeps under your skin until your heart caves in."**

* * *

Through all of the drama that had been happening with Casey, Derek had completely and _utterly_ forgotten Sally. His girlfriend, Sally.

And strangely enough, Casey was beginning to entertain ideas of getting back together with Max. The stupid faggot who had made her change everything about herself. Well, he hadn't _made_ her do anything, but Casey was willing to mold completely to his standards, consciously or not, until she resembled a pathetic excuse of Amy. He remembered the brief stay on the cheerleading squad and smirked a little. He hadn't wanted to say anything – to anyone, ever, not even Sam – but she was hot as hell in that uniform. Obviously. It would take a complete idiot to not find an attractive girl flipping towards them a total turn-on.

So there she was, eating lunch with Max, while Derek looked on from his spot with Sam and Ralph. He didn't particularly want to watch her. He was completely able to forget about her for a lunch period and live in peace – really, he was _quite_ capable – but she was twirling her hair and she barely looked at him once and it made him itchy with the secret of what had happened between them. Max had no clue that Casey had been given a drug and molested, had no clue that Derek had probably seen more of her naked body than he had – unless he had? Derek was going to ask her later – and Max just had no idea. He was sitting there in his stupid letter jacket and smiling at her and Derek _knew_ he was an okay looking guy, but Casey was _more_ than okay looking, and they were just not right together, dammit! Ugh. It made him itchy as hell. He hated it.

"D, you're doing that thing again," Ralph stage-whispered through his sandwich. Bits and pieces of lettuce and what Derek suspected might be peanut butter hit the table. Derek looked at Ralph quickly before turning back to Casey.

"Say it, don't spray it, Raplhy. And I have no idea what you're talking about."

She was leaning forward on the table, inching towards Max in a way that Derek was almost positive was _not_ meant to indicate that she just wanted to be friends. Her eyes were smoky instead of blue. He felt goosebumps prick on the back of his neck at the intensity of her gaze – even though it was not directed at him.

"Dude, come on…" Sam put his head in his hands. "You've been staring at her all lunch period."

Ralph looked up for a second. "Wait, what? I meant that Derek was mixing his plaids again."

Derek swiveled completely toward his friend. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The plaid of your shirt clashes with the plaid of your boxers, man! Don't you ever watch 'What Not to Wear'?"

"Uh…no, and no…how do you know what print my boxers are, again?"

Ralph shrugged at Derek and Sam's raised eyebrows. "I just know, D. Intuition."

Derek lifted his shirt up to show Ralph the solid red of his boxers, but he was already absorbed in sticking a raison in the folds of his sandwich. Derek shook his head and turned back to Casey – who was gone.

"Dammit," he muttered. He saw Max sitting with the other football players, but Casey was nowhere to be found.

He gave his friends a dirty look. "Thanks, guys. Now I don't know where she went."

"Careful buddy…you're doing that…that _other_ thing again," Sam informed him.

"What _now_? Am I mixing my stripes? Or is it my primary colors?"

"No. You're acting lovesick. Like one of those douches from the books she reads. Remember?"

Derek put a hand to his chest in mock anger and defiance.

"Sammy! How dare you! Accuse me – me, of all people – of being _lovesick_? I have absolutely _no_ idea what you're talking about! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find that keener of a step-sister and ask her a question about…some stuff."

Sam chuckled. "Nice recovery."

Derek clapped him on the back on his way out of the cafeteria. "Wait until you see me score."

He wandered the hallway aimlessly for about five minutes until he found her rearranging things in her locker. She was sniffling.

"Tell me this isn't the second time in less than a week that I have to wipe your nose, princess. Do I need to call animal control?" he meandered up to the locker adjacent to hers and crossed his arms, leaning back into the cool metal. She didn't say a word.

"Or maybe the hospital, seeing as you've lost the ability to speak…I hear the psych ward has plenty of room."

She huffed and turned to him, her watery eyes red and exhausted.

"Can you try to not be an asshole for one day, Derek?"

"That wouldn't be very fair of me, would it? I would be denying you the enjoyment of acting like an asshole back."

She scoffed and gave him a withering look. "Shut up. I am not in the mood to deal with your crap right now."

He frowned and watched her as she slammed her locker closed and left in the direction of the library.

"Casey, wait…" he caught up to her and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to face him. "What happened?"

She stared at him for a moment before breaking down and putting her face in her hands.

"I am such an idiot," she cried. He wanted to touch her shoulder – but decided that would probably not be the wisest decision. She looked ready to explode at any second. Unless the crying counted as exploding…but he didn't think so.

"I already know that. But what happened?" He felt a sudden inkling of fury ripple through his body. "Did Max do something? What did he say?"

She sighed and coughed through her tears. "I started it. It's my fault."

"Casey, if he did something to you-"

She shoved off his hand that had somehow migrated to her forearm – his stupid, traitorous, excuse for a hand – and stomped her foot. "I asked him if he wanted to get back together and I flirted and begged and made a fool of myself and I can't believe I was so stupid to sit there and ask _him_ of all people, when everything ended so badly in the first – in the first – "

She took a heaving breath. "In the first place. I'm so stupid."

_No. Max is the stupid one._ "Max and you? Back together?"

She misinterpreted his question. She mistook his panic and annoyance for teasing. But that was nothing new.

"Well, you don't have to worry anymore, okay?" She hiccupped a little and pushed a strand of hair out of her wet face.

"What are you _talking_ about?" Him, worry? Nonsense.

"Max doesn't want anything to do with me." She repeated the same idea over and over as if trying to convince herself to give up on a lost cause. It was pathetic. But it made him sad and very, very angry that Max of all people had the power to reduce her to this. He was almost jealous – he wanted to have some kind of power over her, some kind of hold – but it was overruled by disgust. Disgust for Max thinking he was so much better than her when he was obviously not, disgust for Casey letting herself become a sniveling mess, and disgust for himself because he sat there and listened to her talk about her…problems. What was he becoming?

"Did you ever have sex with him?" he burst. She blanched and whirled on him.

"That is – that is so – ugh!" she spluttered. "Why do you care? What I've done with Max is between the two of us! I don't understand why you feel the need to push yourself into my life all the time, god…"

"Did you?" he persisted. Something in his expression made her shoulders crumble a little and she shook her head no.

He let air whistle through his teeth. He hadn't realized it had been sitting there, his body tense and pressing closer against the space between them, until the breath shocked her and she looked at him.

"Did you just sigh?" _In relief, yes._

"No. I don't know what you're talking about, keener. Go to the bathroom and fix your face, you look terrible."

He turned his back and ran to hide in the gym, and even though he was an asshole he hoped to hell that she understood what he meant because it wasn't that he wanted her hurt he just wanted something – _anything _– to keep her from anyone but _him_. That was all. That was all.

There was nothing more to it.

Nothing more.

* * *

Casey? Sniveling? They ask him how he could have possibly been so mean to her at such a delicate time like that, but he scoffs at them.

Casey? Delicate? That's almost as ridiculous as the mental image of Casey sniveling. He smiles to himself. She's not delicate at all, he tells them.

Trust him.

* * *

He called Sally that night. She was angry that they hadn't talked, but it wasn't his fault. He hadn't had work and he was a bit…preoccupied. It wasn't his fault. He told her so, and she demanded that he write her a love song.

A goddamn love song.

She asked him to prepare it and perform it at the Open Mic night the following Friday at Smelly Nelly's. He wanted to puke. The idea of being romantic with anyone but –

Uh.

The idea of being that romantic at all was just downright gross. He didn't want to be the guy that wrote songs and poetry and shit for his girlfriend. So he did the only logical thing he could think of: he asked Casey to do it for him.

"Absolutely not!" Her mouth had opened into a neat little 'o' in outrage. "The whole point is for you to do it yourself. So that you can prove to Sally that you care about her. Besides, if I do it, she'll be able to tell." Casey nodded, sure of her logic, and turned back to her laptop. He lingered in her doorway before walking into her room and shutting the door behind him. Her shoulders tensed at the sound, but she didn't turn. He creeped towards her until he was right behind her, and he leaned down to put his hands on her shoulders. He bent to whisper in her ear.

"Whatcha writing?" He asked. She shuddered and jumped, turning to face him. Her features were twisted with annoyance.

"None of your business, Derek."

He leant forward until he was an inch away from her face, watching her lips part to take in a breath.

"Why so quick to answer, Case? Is it a secret?" She backed up until her spine hit the edge of the desk, flicking her laptop shut with a quick movement of the wrist.

"It's none of your business!" He stood straight and she sighed as if the weight of the world had been removed from her shoulders and he crossed his arms.

"If you write the song, I'll stay out of your business."

"I said no, Derek. Why can't you just do this one nice thing for Sally? She's your girlfriend." She stared at him in challenge, as if waiting for him to tell her something outrageous, like they had broken up and she was _not_ his girlfriend, or that he really wanted to write _her_ a song, or something equally ridiculous.

"Can you at least help me?" He raised an eyebrow and stretched his arms behind his head. She eyed the raised hemline of his shirt and sighed.

"Fine. But you have to do most of it."

"Excellent," he grinned. He turned his head briefly and eyed the door. A plan began to formulate in his head, if only he could reach the lock…

"Let me get some paper first, okay?" She stood and bent to rifle through her desk drawers. He took a second to look at her before drifting to the door and twisting the lock shut. He made his way back to her, infinitely closer than before, and when she turned he had to reach his hands out and steady her.

"Easy, Casey," he smirked. She shoved around him and sat on her bed. He followed suit. The plan – however crappy and quickly formulated it had been – was moving along effortlessly. Literally effortlessly. He hadn't done shit and she was already right where he wanted her. He sat and leaned on one hand before eyeing her. She was wearing a tank top and little pajama shorts. The same from the other night, if he wasn't mistaken. He saw the lacy red of her bra peek out from the sides of the tank top.

"Okay. First thing's first: what message do you want to convey to Sally?"

It was an easy enough question to answer. He could have come up with something – I want to tell her I love her, I want to tell her I'm sorry, that I care, that I miss her, that I especially love when she wears her hair curly – but that would have ruined the plan. Instead, he opted for frowning. Casey stared, pencil poised above the paper, waiting for his answer.

"I want to tell her…that she looks especially hot today."

Casey blinked and wrote down the words slowly. He watched the curly script, inching closer to her.

"O…kay," she muttered. She looked back up at him.

"And why does she look especially attractive to you?"

He deliberated. "It's something about the way…" he chanced a look at her braids, "the way she does her hair." Casey reached up a hand to play with the edge of the braid, making a note. He moved closer.

"Is that all?"

"No." He watched her face. She looked at the paper, avoiding him. "It's also the way she dresses. I like how small her…shorts…are, and how tight her…shirt is," he smirked, watching Casey blush. She made more notes. He grew closer still. She didn't say anything for a minute.

"I like the way she blushes when I tell her how hot she is," Derek whispered. Casey looked at him, and noticed for the first time the shut door. She pushed the paper aside and looked at him.

"Wouldn't Sally want something a little deeper than this?" she challenged. He felt her body heat as she moved into him, and they fit together like matching puzzle pieces. She put her hands on his back and he closed his eyes as his lips grazed over the skin on her neck. She shivered and he pushed up the flimsy material of her shirt to touch the smooth skin on her hips.

This was his hardest decision yet. To be dirty, or to not be dirty? He bit her neck lightly and she clutched at his shoulder, and that did it for him.

"She would…and I would give it to her as deep as she wanted it." Casey sighed into him shakily and he pushed her down, body hovering over hers. He ran his hands up her sides, taking the shirt with him. He buried his head in her neck when she bit her lip and kissed his way to her collarbone. She moved her head back and arched into him. He could feel his heart sprinting a mile a minute as he pushed his hips between hers and when she pushed up into him he groaned. It was like every other sexual experience he had ever had, although…different. Casey was different. What was it?

She flipped them over, straddling him, and he looked at the ceiling through blurry eyes as her hand drifted behind her back to unhook her bra. He sat up and kissed the valley between her breasts, waiting for it to fall. And then –

There was a loud knocking on the wall. Casey's eyes widened and she threw herself off of him. He might have found it funny if he wasn't so frustrated.

"Casey, Derek, dinnertime!" they heard Nora call. He sighed and banged his head on the pillow over and over while Casey turned her back to him and pulled her shirt over her head. She re-braided her hair and turned to the mirror to check her work with wide eyes and a flushed face.

"So, uh – I think we should scrap that song and restart after dinner. That didn't turn out too well."

He sat up and glared at his clasped hands. "I thought it was turning out fine, until _somebody_ interrupted our train of thought…" he grumbled. Casey stopped playing with her hair tie.

"Train of…" she trailed off. "Whatever," she brushed hair out of her face. She moved back towards him, and – the shocker, this is it, right here – she was back on top of him and rocking her hips into his once more, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. He raised a hand to her hip absentmindedly, far too absorbed in the sensation below where his belt should have been to pay much attention to what she was saying.

"I'll write the song for you."

She got up and unlocked the door, leaving for dinner.

Of everything that had just happened…they hadn't kissed once. Or made eye contact. Or even said each other's names.

He sat for a minute before following.

* * *

They already know how Open Mic night went; they had been there. But what they don't know, he tells them, is how he begged Casey to sing the song for him. He demonstrates for them exactly how he had whispered 'please' to her – he only wishes she were there to reenact the lovely facial expression she had made when she gave in to him.

So, he says, his relationship with Sally was a-okay for the time being. His rel…him and Casey, however, were not. Which lead to their argument about boys and girls being able to be 'just friends'.

If you had asked him at the time, he would have told you it was only to prove his point: guys and girls cannot merely be _just_ _friends_. What he was really getting at, _really_ aiming for, was to prove this so he could find a way to accuse Sally of still having feelings for Patrick. And then he could…

He chuckles. They smile wryly at him and he shrugs. There's nothing to say.

You wanted the truth, he reminds them. They nod.

He presses onward.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Music belongs to Katy Perry. Copyrighted materials not mine.


	3. three

**A/N: **Some spoilers for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, so if you haven't seen it (which you should), then…this is your warning. Nothing severe, but there are references.

* * *

He's beginning to think that they don't appreciate the explicit details. He doesn't think that they understand what they asked for when they told him to tell the "truth". Because "the full story" isn't pretty, and it's long, and it isn't what the doctor ordered. Or in this case…it isn't what _they_ ordered.

This time, when he tells them he's going to begin again, they don't say a word. They don't even make a face. He chuckles, and that's when they question him – what in the world could you _possibly_ be laughing at?

You, he tells them. You act like you're witnessing a funeral procession and I'm playing the dirge.

They stare at him. And?

You _should_ be treating it like you're watching a train wreck. And I'm playing the wedding bells.

He laughs at his joke. They _still don't get it._

* * *

"**I take the necessary steps to get some air into my chest."**

* * *

March Break.

It's him, so…you would think it would be an extraordinary week. Especially with all that had been happening with Casey. You'd think he'd get with her, or with some other girl to at least _forget_ about her.

But…

Here's what ended up happening: The rest of their family went on vacation, and he stayed home because he had plans. _Had _plans. And Casey did the same. It would have been perfect, if their plans hadn't fallen through. So what happened was that the two of them were stuck at home alone with each other for the entire week. So…

So what did he do? He sat on the couch and watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button with her. It might have been one of the worst decisions he'd ever made, but it also could have been the best – there was something he was beginning to understand about Casey. She never did anything on accident.

She was klutzy, yes. Despite the dancing, she was still instilled with an inescapable lack of balance. But she did everything for a reason. There was something peculiar about the movie, and it only hit Derek much, much later, after the movie was long over and Casey had tip-toed off to bed without a word, after he had showered and laid down and tucked his covers in, that there it was, curled up neatly in the front of his mind waiting for discovery. The reason behind her showing him the film. It finally made sense.

In the beginning, they were young, although Benjamin seemed infinitely older than Daisy – they were both young. And as time went on, they moved in opposite directions, but always toward the same point…like a perpendicular angle. At some point, they were going to crash together and connect and things would be perfect, but then…

But then both would move on, again in opposite directions, faster still, and it would be as if they were never together at all. It would be impossible to forget – Benjamin would never lose sight of the distinct red of Daisy's hair, and Daisy would never stop thinking of how Benjamin visited her at the hospital, but after they had grown – or shrunk, in Benjamin's case – it would be as impossible to go back as it was to move on. They would be stuck forever…until they died.

And when Daisy was the one that was impossibly older, holding onto the fragile newborn body of her lover, what could she do? How could she go on living when she couldn't forget? Whenever she would touch her husband, the only thing that would come to mind would be the torturously soft skin of Benjamin Button right before he took his last baby breath and was silent.

And now, thinking about it much, much later, Derek finally understood why _this_ was the movie Casey had decided to show him. Because although neither of them were cursed with Benjamin's physical affliction, they were both cursed with the emotional plight. They were going in opposite directions. They would crash, and the explosion would be magnificent – maybe even beautiful – but when it faded, all they were going to have would be leftovers. They hadn't even begun and their time was limited.

He could hear the vicious ticking of a backwards clock somewhere in the distance, and it made him dizzy with anxiety.

And the absolute wrong thing that Derek did next was take solace in the fact that they both knew something was _going_ to happen, instead of feeling sorrow at how the rest of his life would pale in comparison to his short time with _her_.

They consider this.

Their grand conclusion: that's horribly sad, and awfully well thought out.

He remarks on their lack of faith in his thinking abilities. And that's all.

* * *

After a good night of sleep, Casey had decided Max wasn't worth her time. Derek remembered her waking up with her hair in a bundle on her head, and she let it out and he made a ridiculous comment about "putting the beast back in its cage" before she huffed and twirled a tight curl around her finger and left for Emily's.

And the following week of school…Truman French arrived.

He thought arrived might be an understatement. Truman French was more like the crash and burn of an airplane falling into a pile of nuclear explosives. Or a minefield.

And now, the crazy bastard was _rating_ the girls in _his_ school – which was somewhat beneficial, because they were all retaliating by spending hours on their hair and makeup and clothes, and this in turn made them all even hotter – but Casey was one of those girls. And while Derek appreciated the extra minutes she spent on her appearance just like any other guy, he resented the fact that Truman had that effect on her.

It was one of his biggest pet peeves, he decided. Max had made her a sniveling mess the past week, and now Truman was making her a superficial…_Barbie_.

The only guy who _didn't_ seem to have any control over her was _him_. Which pissed him off.

Derek heard about the fashion show before Casey did. So when she brought it up in the car later that day, he had to roll his eyes.

"Casey, Casey, Casey…don't tell me you're falling into _that _trap?"

She looked confused.

"Trap? Derek, how could a fashion show _possibly_ be a trap?"

She didn't get it. How precious. He had been waiting for the longest time to understand something when she didn't. He wanted to teach _her_.

"Kendra is going to pick the models based off Truman's ratings. And seeing as you earned lousy six and a half…"

Casey reached across the gap between them to slap his arm.

"Derek! Kendra is my friend! She'll pick me, she knows I'm better than a six and a half. And who cares about that rotten Truman French, anyway? His…he…Truman French is a stupid name!" She spluttered.

Derek laughed at her. She crossed her arms.

"Obviously _you _do. You're letting it get to you. I can guarantee Kendra is going to care more about the public opinion and how they react to the models and their ratings as opposed to you being her _friend_."

Casey huffed.

"Just wait Derek. I'll be in the show…"

The kicker – she wasn't in the show. When he said I told you so, instead of getting angry and hitting him, or letting loose a typical 'Derek!' she just slammed the door to her room and locked it. She stayed on the phone all night.

"Derek!"

He looked up at her from over his glass of orange juice. He swallowed thickly as his eyes traced the neckline of her shirt, sloping down to a neat little v.

"Isn't that a little low-cut for you, princess?" Casey shot him a dirty look.

"Shutup."

He obliged, but only to take another drink from his juice. She babbled on.

"So, uh…Kendrareallydidn'tletmeinhershow, so Emily and I have decided to have our own fashion show!" She claps her hands together excitedly. "What do you think?"

He cupped a hand around his ear. "I'm sorry, did you say Kendra didn't let you in her show?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're missing the point." He shrugged and leant back, turning the other way. She stomped a foot. "Yes, okay! She told me there were no sixes, halves or otherwise. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

"Well…what about my idea? It's good right?" She smiled.

He looked at her. Really looked. "Typical Casey. You don't get what you want, so you just _have _to do something about it."

Her shoulders sagged a little. "What's so wrong with that?" she demanded.

"I didn't say anything was wrong with it."

She stopped. "Wait, what – Derek – ugh! You're so confusing…"

She left the kitchen in a flurry of muttering and clenched fists. He smiled to himself.

"I know."

* * *

The day of the fashion show, he slipped unknown into the cafeteria. He saw the runway, multi-colored lights flashing and music with too much bass pounding. He saw Truman a little ways away from him, standing near the end of it – the perfect view.

He had made it just in time to see Casey come strutting down the catwalk.

She was wearing a tight purple dress and strappy silver heels. He felt a rush of blood – _baseball, old people, mowing the lawn _– and his eyes popped open as she tilted back her head and gave the audience a smoldering look. She turned around and eyed a paper pinned to her back. It said six and a half. Derek had to laugh. He chanced a look at Truman, who looked just as uncomfortable as Derek's nether regions, and laughed harder.

Casey pouted down at her number, raising her hands in a confused manner. Everybody in the crowd booed, holding up sheets with bold, black numbers on them – all tens.

Derek smiled. Leave it to Casey to organize something that 1) got her what she wanted, 2) got her attention, and 3) shoved something back in someone's face.

She was perfect. He clapped a little and she threw her head back, hands raised to the ceiling. She was gloating. She faced front and bowed to the crowd, smiling and shooting a look at Truman before turning around and clicking back behind the curtains.

Derek turned to leave before being reminded of the problem in his pants with an awkward brush of his jeans.

_Fat people, vegetables, Max Max Max Truman Truman – ugh. _

He specifically remembered it being a slow Tuesday at Smelly Nelly's when Sally told him she would be leaving for Vancouver at the end of the summer.

His first thought: now I finally have an excuse to pay more attention to Casey than Sally.

His second thought: guilt.

His third and last thought before she prodded him for a response: What did the previous things say about him? More importantly, what did they say about the nature of his and Casey's relationship?

"Well…what do you think?"

He stared at her, his face blank as he tried to formulate a response.

In the logical and rational part of his brain – Casey would say that it was the size of a pea, but he had been spending a lot of time there lately and was dusting off cobwebs and found it quite intriguing – the conversation would have gone something like this.

Derek: "I'll transfer to a school there."

Sally: "Oh, no, Derek, you can't do that."

Derek: "But it's going to take me all week to drive to see you on the weekends."

Sally: "Derek…"

Derek: "…"

Sally: "…"

Derek: "Well, it was nice dating you!"

Exit stage right, curtain call, permanent intermission, the end, whatever. That would have been the last of Sally. He would have left work and gone home and slept soundly in his bed, conscience guilt-free. As it was, somebody upstairs hated him, because he was never going to get off that easily.

"Wait! Derek, what?"

"Sally, why delay the inevitable? Why stave off the hurt?'

"Did you really just use the word 'stave' in a sentence?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She sighed. That was when Derek knew it would only get worse.

"She's rubbing off on you."

He didn't ask who she was talking about, because he already knew. If he was still dawdling in the logical and rational part of his brain, he would have told her it was nonsense. But…

He honestly didn't have it in him to lie to her anymore. He had been pretending to her for weeks that he still liked her. The thing with Casey, whatever the hell it was, was eating at his life like a parasite. His friends thought he was a lovesick Ivanhoe douche, and now Sally was breaking up with him. That was mostly because she was moving, and – and actually, he had done a lot of the breaking, but – the point was that everything with Casey was making his life so goddamn hard.

He responded probably a minute late. "What? Who?"

Sally gave him a disbelieving look.

"Casey, Derek. Don't pretend you don't know. The delayed response didn't help your case at all, you might want to work on that."

Damn.

"Sally, look, I know that – "

"No, I _don't_ think you know. I can tell how it is just by seeing you look at her. It's like…somebody says her name, and your whole face lights up. You poke fun, and make her miserable, sure, but deep down you both are so obsessed with each other…there's just…"

Her voice shook. "There's no room for me."

He watched her, face tense.

"Was there…ever any room? When was Casey _not_ your whole life?"

He looked down at his clasped fingers, mouth opening and closing. She was breaking down some very carefully constructed walls in his head, and later it would hit him he would probably be very angry. At the moment…he really was just having trouble processing. Like he had forgotten how to read, only…he had forgotten how to feel properly. Was having…_feelings_ for Casey so wrong that it was messing up everything in his head? Did this all make him a bad person? Sally was making him feel that way. What could he do?

"What can I do to fix this?" is the only thing he could manage to say, but it was apparently the wrong thing.

She looked at him and sighed, closing her eyes one last time. When she opened them again, he knew that it was over. For real. Really, really, over. He felt a strange chapter in his life coming to a close, and another opening up achingly slow, and he hated himself for letting it feel so good.

"Nothing," she said. And she turned to leave.

"Sally…wait, it's okay, I – "

"No, Derek, it's not okay, because one of these days I'm going to wake up realizing that I have given you _everything I have_ and see that you've just recycled it for her. Everything I do for you…you turn a blind eye just to watch Casey _breathe_. It's not fair. I love you. But this isn't okay anymore."

"Sally…" Love? What?

"Just stop. Stop trying to fix this. There's nothing left for you to do anymore, and there's nothing left to understand."

"Sally, just – "

"I'm leaving for Vancouver next week and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me. Maybe before I could've been stopped, but now, Derek…"

"Don't do this." Even he could hear how half-hearted it sounded. He didn't know why he was trying to stop her. Maybe to keep something in his life stable in the face of…everything else.

"You want me to. Just give up. Please, just stop, and go home. I'm done pretending you don't think of her every time you look at _me._"

He watched her leave, the brown of her shirt fading in the distance, blurring into the outside landscape, and he wished that he could have made himself feel an ounce of regret. But it never came. All he could think of was the way Casey would demand to know how it went, and how he would have to lie to her.

Because in a lot of ways, Sally was right. He did everything she said for this unexplainable feeling that someday, he and Casey could be perfect.

There was still no words. But Derek felt like maybe he was getting closer to understanding what this meant.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Music belongs to Jonas Brothers. Copyrighted materials not mine.


	4. four

Imagine having no secrets. Depending on your point of view, this could be a good thing, or a bad thing. It could be helpful. Or…

It could ruin your life.

Derek takes a breath and looks them in the eyes.

Now imagine being in his shoes, he says. He has to tell them all about his personal life. His secrets, his innermost desires and urges, all of the confusion is being laid out bare for them to examine.

We have no choice, they say. This is one of those situations where we need to know.

Derek looks down at his hands in a rare show of giving in. It doesn't have to be like that and they know it. They're just too curious for their own good. But all he's saying is…just keep that in mind when making judgments. Keep in mind that all of this is personal for him. In a lot of ways, it's sacred. This is him growing up. All he's asking for is respect. He just wants to tell his story and have things finally, _finally_ be okay.

So he tells them this, and they agree.

Okay, they say. We respect you.

* * *

"**We're in a bad state, b****ut tonight, my love, it only gets worse."**

* * *

He was sitting in his recliner on a rainy Sunday afternoon watching a hockey game when she thundered down the stairs screaming.

"Derek! Give me back my dream diary!" She stomped over the hardwood and the rug to stop in front of the television.

"Despite how you've completely alienated yourself at school, you're not invisible." He made a point of trying to see around her legs to watch the game. "As in move, Spacey. Now."

"Not until you tell me what you did with my dream diary!" She clenched her fist before her face broke into horror. "Wait – did you read it? Derek, please tell me you didn't read it!"

He sighed.

First off, there's something Casey should have known: she wasn't good at hiding her dream diary. He had already found it and read it and made copies for future use, in case something like that would be necessary, and he had already digested all the strange dreams she had about him and the random thoughts of Truman thrown in. He knew from her dream diary that she was nervous for graduation – already, yeah, and it was months away – and he knew that she wanted to kiss Truman, and he knew that she wanted to kiss _him, _and he knew that she was afraid of being alone. All of this was basic information.

What Derek _really_ wanted to know was what she was going to do about these dreams. These wants. Was she going to act on them? Was she going to go out with Truman, or was she going to go around kissing people? Was she going to suffer a mental breakdown weeks before graduation and do something stupid to flunk and stay behind? No. No, the last one was ridiculous. If anything, that would be him. But he had to wonder.

He gave up on watching the game momentarily and threw his hands in the air.

"I don't have your stupid diary, now can you please leave me alone and go bother someone else?"

Casey bit her lip and rocked forwards and back.

"Are you lying? Because I would really, really, hate to find out that you were." He stared at her for a moment. He took in for the first time her tight black yoga pants, the thin gray t-shirt, the innocent face. He swallowed thickly.

"What would I want with your dreams?" he sneered. She furrowed her brow and looked taken aback for a moment. She hunched her shoulders and deflated.

"Derek…"

She crept forward and sat on the far side of the couch closest to him. She crossed her legs and looked at him from below her lashes, unconsciously playing with the waistband of her pants. He stared at her fingers, folding and re-folding the pink edge back, and he could have sworn he saw lacy white before she spoke and his eyes were drawn to her face.

"It's very important to me. And I swear to god, if you took it, I'm going to steal your jacket and put it through a wood chipper."

He blanched. She leaned forward on the arm rest to look him in the eyes, her own bold and laying him bare, and she raised a brow. "Got it?" she demanded.

He nodded. "If I see it I'll be sure to rip out all the pages and put them through a paper shredder."

She rolled her eyes. "Jerk."

"Princess," he muttered half-heartedly, carefully watching her go.

* * *

At school, he saw her talking to Truman by her locker. She looked flustered.

"What's up with them, D?" Sam asked. Derek looked over his shoulder to see Sam and Ralph watching the pair too.

"How should I know?" he scowled. Backtrack – if this was how he was trying to convince them he didn't have f…ew. _Feelings _for Casey, he was failing. "I mean, uh…why should I care?"

Sam gave him a look – the patented I'm-your-best-friend-and-I-know-better look – and Derek wanted to hit himself upside the head. So much for playing it cool.

"I think she might like him a little," Derek said lightly. He feigned indifference, looking to his right to watch a group of girls at the water fountain.

"Oh," Sam breathed. He understood, Derek knew.

"Who, the guy from France?" Ralph asked. Sam and Derek shook their heads, identical smiles they saved only for Ralph gracing their lips.

"Truman, yeah," Sam said.

"I don't get it."

"What is there to not get, Ralph? Boy likes girl. Boy pursues girl. Girl likes boy. Girl and boy get together. The end."

Ralph shook his head. "No, dude, I get that, but why would Casey like Truman? He was mean and lied to her about her rating."

Derek stilled. "Wait, what? Lied?"

He had known that a 6 and a half was shit for a girl like Casey. But why would Truman lie?

"If that's his way of getting somebody's attention, it's fucked up." Derek concluded. He saw Truman smile at Casey and her hesitant smile back, and he knew he was going to have to do something about that. He couldn't have her ending up with a dick.

Well…a dick of the Truman variety. Ha.

"Yeah, but D, look at what happened – he not only got her attention, but he got her to parade around in a hot little dress," Sam reminded him.

Derek took a moment to turn that over in his mind. It was true – Truman had bothered Casey, but attention was attention. And he _had_ gotten her to look differently, meaning he had gotten to her. Isn't that what pissed him off in the first place…?

"I think I hate him," he finally said.

"We know, man. We know."

* * *

His jacket was missing. His mind immediately jumped to Casey, assuming she had followed through on her wood chipper threats. But he thought better of it and tried to go through where he had been that day. It couldn't be in the car, he had brought it inside with him. It wasn't in the wash. He didn't wash it. And it wasn't in his room, because he was in there. So…

"Casey!" he yelled. He heard a thud from her bedroom and the scrambled opening of a door. She burst into his room in a flurry of panic.

"Derek, what? What's wrong? Are you on fire?"

He gave her a blank look.

"Why the fuck would I be on fire. My jacket's missing and I know you have it, since you so obviously think I took your stupid diary. Which I've already read, by the way! And there is nothing so interesting in there that I would need to read it twice!" He stepped towards her. "I don't –"

"Wait, wait, wait. You've read it?"

"Yeah, I have, and that one about the fish tacos was really goddamn weird, Casey."

Her eyes widened. "I can't believe you! You – you – you privacy invader! You are the most vile, repulsive – "

"Repulsive? _Repulsive?_ Ha!" he laughed. "If I'm so repulsive you wouldn't be kissing me in your dreams, now would you?"

She scoffed. "Dreams? Nightmares, Derek! I wouldn't kiss you if – if my life depended on it!"

"Oh, oh, Casey, don't get ahead of yourself. I wouldn't go that far."

She seethed, her teeth clenched and her hands curled into fists so tight her fingers were white. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" he murmured. She looked at him, chest heaving, and he stood to match her and she wasn't backing down, but it was okay. Because neither was he. "You'd kiss Truman, too."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Not you. Truman."

"Careful…it sounds a little like you're convincing yourself, not me."

She screamed.

"That's it! I have had it with this crap!" She lunged at him, and he caught her torso before they tumbled to the floor. He smiled a little despite her pounding fists on his chest, head, face, anywhere – because at least he could evoke something out of her. At least he could make her feel something. He was becoming such a pathetic pile of steaming hormones it was sickening.

When she actually began to hurt him, he grimaced and flipped them over, grabbing her wrists and pinning her body down.

"Not…fair," she struggled. He watched her silently. "Get OFF of me."

Huh. Just like before, only this time she was wearing more than a towel. He was beginning to notice a pattern with her.

He let go and rolled away. She stood quickly, watching him with fierce eyes before making a pissed noise and leaving his room.

But he still didn't have his jacket back. The kicker – he wasn't worried about it being put through a wood chipper. He was far too engrossed in the memory of her in his hands to even think about jackets or diaries.

* * *

"Derek!"

"Hm?" The boy in question turned his body to look down the hallway and found Truman waving him down. "Ugh…just what I need." Monday mornings at school were not his forte. A little dose of Truman would only make things worse.

Truman's black head bobbed into view, his ever-present cheeky smile only serving to grate on Derek's already frazzled nerves.

"Can I help you?"

Truman blinked. The smile didn't falter.

"Yeah. I had a question to ask about Casey, actually." He held a hand out in what, to him, must have seemed like a gesture of friendship. To Derek, it looked like an open invitation to get a roundhouse kick in the face. He was already walking away by the time he opened his mouth to speak.

"Then you should probably find her and ask her, yeah?"

Truman hurried after him. "Derek! Wait."

He paused in his dramatic exit to pivot. "Dude, I can't help you. If you want to know something about her you should go ask Emily. I know as much about Casey as I know about…about algebra." _Lies lies lies._ "And let me tell you, my math grades are not exactly up to par."

Truman put a hand on Derek's shoulder. He eyed the offending fingers for a moment before turning his stony gaze back up to the boy's face.

"Don't be like that, Derek. We're all friends here. And I know that you and Casey have an…interesting relationship, so to speak, and since you live with her – "

That's right. Derek lived with her. He was already above Truman in her life on so many levels. Ha!

" – know so much. I mean, you see her on a daily basis. So tell me…"

He paused, giving Derek a second to raise his eyebrows in annoyance. "Yeah?"

"…What is her favorite kind of flowers?"

Silence. Derek blinked.

"Dude. What? Is that a joke?"

Truman shook his head. "You see, I'm picking her up for a date on Friday, and I wanted to bring her flowers. I just didn't know the right kind to bring. So I figured I'd ask you! Good call, right?" He laughed, and a normal person would have paired the chuckle with his smile and deemed him as charming. But Derek knew better. Underneath all the bravado, Truman was just a pathetic little boy who knew nothing about anything. He was a loser parading around like the football captain. And Derek knew Max, which said something about how lame that specific persona was.

"Get her lilies," Derek finally said. Truman was obviously not expecting an answer, because his smile fell for a second. But, in mere moments, it was back, vibrant as ever. And he was inclining his head at Derek like he had won something, proud in his own little games.

"And you know…she said something about not wearing navy…which I don't understand. Do you…?"

"Truman, I don't pretend to understand what the hell goes on in her head. So I really have no idea." _Lies lies lies…_

"Well…alright. Thanks, man. See you around!"

When he left, Derek unclenched his fist and smoothed out an eyebrow. He regained his composure. He was cool. And he was laughing a little, because Casey hated lilies. And she always told the boy to never wear navy on the first date, because she always wore a little black skirt, and there was something about 'blavy' that she hated.

Derek watched Truman turn the corner at the end of the hallway and frowned. "Alright. I _know_ I hate him."

* * *

Casey was getting ready for her date. Derek knew this from the unfamiliar techno music she always played right before. He realized that it was partly because she was getting in the right mood to go out, to 'party', but he also understood that it was meant to get her in the right mindset to become something she wasn't used to. Just like every other boy, she was preparing to mold exactly to what they needed. He knew that if he didn't do something about Truman, she would become one of those girls that snuck boys in through their windows after midnight to have sex.

And he appreciated those girls, he did, but he didn't want Casey to become that. Because she would regret it later, he knew, and because she wouldn't be with him. Or…if he wanted to lie to himself, he could say that he was protecting her from somebody he didn't think was good enough. Or…something. Something equally brotherly. Some other bullshit.

But as it was, he needed to put a stop to her romantic inclinations towards Truman French. He was bad news. And Casey knew better.

He didn't bother knocking on her door, but he opened it with an audible click and pushed his way in.

He found her sitting at her vanity in the predicted black skirt – ha, he knew her so well, he was the _man_ – and applying a strange silver eyeshadow.

"Going for the drag queen look, I see."

She glared at him in the mirror. "Why are you here? Get out if you're going to be mean. Seriously."

He ignored her comment and sat on the bed, leaning back onto a pillow. He felt a hard corner press into his neck uncomfortably and frowned.

"Do you need something?" she continued. "Because – "

"Is this your stupid diary?" Derek held up the offending square book, which had only moments before been hidden under the pillow, and shook it. "Is this where it's been all along? And you thought it was _me_ that took it. Honestly, Casey…"

She was quiet. "Oops?" she offered. He threw it at her. She fumbled with it before it fell to the floor. "You didn't have to throw it, Derek."

"Did you know it was there all along? Did you just take my jacket for no reason? What is your problem, Casey?"

She stood and he stood, matching her. He was taller. That was new.

"Did you know where it was this whole time?" he demanded.

She shook her head, eyes betraying the lie. "Not really, no, I didn't…"

"You're a shitty liar. So what the hell."

"I just…I don't know."

He watched her carefully. "Did you just want to cause a problem with me? Is there a reason you made things difficult?"

She put her hands up in defense. "God, no, okay! I didn't do it on purpose! I just – "

"You just what? You couldn't deny such a perfect opportunity to create more tension between us? I can see how appealing that is, I really can," he scoffed.

She shook her head. "No, dammit! This is not one of those Louis Friend situations. Nothing is happening."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Louis Friend…?"

She stomped her foot. "Of course you wouldn't get that reference, who am I kidding? It's from Silence of the Lambs. It's an anagram for Iron Sulfide, more commonly known as 'Fool's Gold'. As in whatever you think you're getting at is crap, because it's not real. So get over it."

Funny she would say that, because he wasn't getting at that at all. She was obviously thinking he was hinting at sexual tension when really all he was referring to was bad blood. Interesting.

He clapped slowly. "Way to go. You have not only told me that something we both know to be true is bullshit, but you've managed to poke fun at the fact that I don't understand vague movie references from twenty years ago. You showed me, Case. Kudos, props, take whatever you want…because you got me."

"Shut up."

"Well isn't that just your answer for everything, nowadays? I think you're just scared of something you can't control."

"No, Derek. Stop. Shut up."

He advanced towards her. "There it is again…does that bother you? The fact that you have no control? Just face it. Just…let…go."

She shook her head in a sudden onslaught of panic. "No, no, no, no, no – it doesn't bother me – just stop – "

He pressed against her chest, her back flush against the wall.

"You pretend to be a good little girl, when inside, I know there's something bad just itching to get out," he whispered in her ear.

His nose trailed from her temple down her cheekbone to her neck. He kissed her collarbone slowly, lips working their way over the delicate skin to tease the corners of her lips. Her breathing was ragged to his overactive senses, and he shuddered out a breath as his hand found its way under her shirt to move slowly over the soft skin of her stomach.

"Derek," she breathed. She was soundlessly lifted off the floor as her legs wrapped around his hips, and he could feel her through his pants, and he _knew _she could feel him through the thin cotton of her panties, and at that exact moment, he would have given anything in the entire world for her to just give in.

But this was Casey. And Casey was never one to just let things happen. So instead, she pushed against him, and he opened his hazy eyes to watch the indecision flash over her eyes. And that was all he needed to let her go. Her feet hit the floor with a thud that seemed to match the sound of his hope flying out the window. He sighed.

"Just accept it," he mumbled. He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. When he pulled away she brought a hand up to feel the spot.

"Truman will probably be here soon," he said lightly. And he left her room, left her standing in the corner with her skirt rumpled and her eyes blank and lost in struggle.

And he knew she was finally beginning to get it, too.

* * *

The good part, he tells them, is that he got his jacket back.

The bad part…she lost a little bit of herself.

But they would both win in the end…right? So it was okay.

Right?

They have no idea. But he already knows. A clock ticks away from somewhere in the room, matching the flurried beat of his heart.

Tick-tock. They'll find out soon enough.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Music belongs to Steven Strait. I don't own any copyrighted materials.


	5. five

He's gotten to the point where he tiptoes around her, or when she walks in the room he's holding a book upside-down pretending not to see her, or when he walks past the bathroom and the vanilla-scented steam pours out he shivers. It's an inane magnetism and he's defenseless in the face of it.

It makes him smile, he says, but it also makes him sad.

Oh boy, they say.

* * *

"**If I go anywhere you want me to go, how will I know you'll still follow?"**

* * *

When it came time to pick extra classes, Derek saw her panicking at the sign-up table, picking up clipboards and tossing them around, running her fingers through her hair and bouncing on and off her toes. He knew this because Sam had taken the last spot in the class she wanted. Because he _told _him too. And as he saw her panic escalate into worried noises beneath her breath…

"What's wrong, princess?" he approached her. She turned to him, hair a mess and sticking up in odd places, facial features contorted with stress.

"The class I wanted is full! And would you believe that Sam took the last spot? Sam! I could have sworn I mentioned how much I detested fencing to him, and how much I wanted to _stay as far away from it as possible_…" She gave him a knowing look, eyes glaring daggers at him when he knew her hands couldn't – wouldn't – do the job. She wasn't really referring to fencing. He got it. And he also smiled a little because, yes, he had pulled Sam aside and begged him to take the stupid class Casey wanted just so she would be stuck in fencing. He wanted to irk her.

Because she was letting what happened between them slide. She didn't say a word, and okay – he didn't either – but at least he didn't turn around and date some stupid asshole like Truman just to prove there was nothing between them. That was all on her. At least he was honest and up front with his feelings. As honest and up front as he was able.

He glanced at the list – Truman was in fencing. His eyes narrowed.

"Why would you be so annoying as to tell Sam to take the spot I wanted? Really, Derek? Am I not allowed to have _anything_?"

She was allowed to have him, if that counted for anything. In her mind it probably didn't.

He leaned over. "Quit whining," he breathed. She twitched and her eyes darted over to look at him. He picked up the pen on the table and signed his name in an empty slot on the fencing sign-up sheet. Casey blanched.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Signing up for fencing. I've always wanted to know how to fight with fake swords." She looked at him. He stared her down.

"Those fake swords do a lot more damage than you'd think," he murmured. She understood the innuendo – Truman was the fake.

"Maybe to a lesser man," she shot back.

He shook his head and walked away.

* * *

Fencing was difficult. As opposed to all other forms of fighting, which came rather easily to him, fencing was more graceful and refined. You weren't supposed to hurt your opponent, not _really_, and that was the big difference that threw him off. He didn't know how to play without shedding blood.

Casey and Truman stood together, whispering into each other's ears in matching white suits, while he stood opposite them in a black suit. The class had learned the basics and was to have a preliminary tournament sort of thing, to gauge their skill levels or whatever. Derek hadn't been paying attention to the teacher because he was too distracted by the two idiots across the room.

"Alright, let's see…a white and a black…"

Derek held his breath. _Please be Truman…please be Truman…_

"Derek, you're up," he called. Derek stepped forward, thanking the gods. He had been itching to smack Truman around all day. Even if he didn't fence well, that didn't mean he couldn't stab him a few times…

"Casey. You too."

Derek held his breath. He looked up, watched the storm flash through her eyes as she flicked her long, brown hair out of her eyes. Suddenly, a simple act of violence felt more like judgment day.

Casey coiled her hair up on top of her head, slipping her mask on. She was nameless, faceless, and yet...even if he hadn't seen her before he would have known it was her, by the way she held herself and carried her weapon. He knew the slight backwards tip of her head was pride, and the forward thrust of her hips and shoulders was a challenge. She was angry; he knew. His eyebrows pulled together and he looked down at his hands before putting on his own mask.

"And…go!" The teacher waved a hand and suddenly, it was the two of them. They took a minute to crouch, watching each other as they circled with weapons raised. Derek looked at Truman, who was looking at Casey, who seemed completely absorbed in what Derek was doing. He lunged, stabbing at her chest with more force than was necessary. She whimpered before twisting out of his range and stabbing back. They engaged in a simple back and forth for what seemed like forever.

In the end, Casey was better than him. But she was also clumsy, and that was her downfall.

She tripped and stumbled into him. He dropped his sword and held her steady, but she pushed at him, anger breaking through her careful walls until she was hitting him anywhere she could get her hands on, and they were tumbling to the ground.

It was like foreshadowing, or déjà vu, or some other stupid bullshit. They were always on the ground, glued together, unable to stop fighting but unable to let go. He twisted her arms behind her back, but she was flexible, and her legs managed to reach up and kick him in the face. They went and went and went.

Nobody was trying to separate them. And Derek realized this was because the teacher had turned to answer another student's question, and nobody else had the balls to interfere. Truman was standing idly, watching with vague interest but also…disgust.

He eventually overpowered her, if only by strength. She had her masked face pressed to the mat, and he was straddling her back, arms pinned while she kicked and struggled.

The teacher turned, and everything happened very fast.

"Hey! You two!" He pointed a finger at them, but Derek was already pulled off of her by Truman, who had finally regained some sense.

"What the hell, man?" he sneered. Truman's dark eyes glared into the empty black surface of his mask. "You could have really hurt her."

Derek pulled the cover off, breathing fresh air and flinching at the bright fluorescent lights. Casey was on the ground, struggling to her elbows and then her knees. She was heaving. Shit.

She slowly took off her white mask, hair tumbling down to cover her face as she shuddered. He took a step forward, meaning to apologize. And then he thought better of it. While everybody was fawning over her, he reversed his steps and left the room. In the hallway, he unzipped the top half of his suit and let the cool air of the hallway penetrate his hot skin. His t-shirt was sticking to him.

He was horrible.

"This is why we would never work…" he mumbled to himself. "All I can do is hurt you."

He blinked rapidly, the sadness and regret thoroughly taking him under. It was like drowning.

He turned and bent over to get a drink from a water fountain.

"No, no, I promise – I'm fine. I'll just go to the nurse."

Derek heard her speaking, but for once he didn't look up. He felt content to continue suffocating in his guilt. Or was that the water…?

He stood up, choking and spluttering, when a small hand clapped him on the back.

He turned to see Casey, a small scratch on her neck leaving drops of blood to fall onto the white material of her suit. She was blank, but accusatory, and he had no words left.

"You're angry with me," she stated.

It was just the two of them, alone in an empty hallway. She looked in his eyes before taking a second to unzip the top half of the white material covering her. She sighed when the air hit her torso.

"I get it," she continued. "I understand why you're mad at me, or Truman, or whatever." She took a breath.

"I just want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you do it?"

A sudden flash of anger rolled through his mind. She was talking to him as if he were a little boy.

He watched her lips move, and he couldn't make a single noise come out of his own. His eyes spoke for him, and he knew she understood.

"How do you feel about me?"

He watched the emotions flicker over her face. She was never more vulnerable than at that moment. And he was done waiting.

"Can I just take this moment to recap some stuff?" He didn't wait for her answer. "I've seen every part of you. I know how you look when you're sick, angry, happy, sad, pensive, you name it. I've seen you at your worst, and I've seen you at your best. I've seen you naked. I've seen you think you love someone, and I've seen you realize that they don't love you. And of course I've taunted you, and teased you, and been your 'worst enemy' for years now, but what part of _any_ of that would make you turn around and date an asshole like Truman? Regardless of the shitty things I've done…you know I'm here. I can be anything Truman can be. I can be more. So where's the justice in dating him, huh? In fact, who's really suffering here? You? Me? Or Him? And over which suffering did we beat each other up today? Because trust me, it had nothing to do with him. So why are you still pretending like you care about him?"

"I'm not pretending-"

"Okay, then have you gotten all your urges out? I read in your dream diary how you wanted to kiss him. I read all about the things you wanted to do with him. So have you gotten rid of those stupid dreams yet? Are they fucking out of your head?"

She flinched. "But you want to kiss me too, Casey. I read every little bit. You want me just as much, if not more, than him."

"That's not true," she struggled.

"Did he tell you that he had to ask me what your favorite flowers are? And I told him the wrong ones, too. And he didn't understand why you told him not to wear navy. All of these little things…stupid, little things that nobody else would pay attention to, things that nobody else would think add up, these are the things I know about you. I understand you, down to the nitty gritty. And you hate it."

"You understand _nothing_," she whispered.

"Don't I?" He laughed. "I bet Truman didn't tell you he lied about your rating, either. Come on, Casey…a six and a half? Look at yourself. He was fucking with you. Just so he could get you to wear a slutty little outfit, because he likes that he can bend you to his will. You thought you were proving him wrong, and yet, _he's_ the one that got to _you_, not the other way around. You did something not in spite of him, but _because_ of him. And so, all this time, you thought you were having a loving, successful relationship with Truman French. But what you didn't know was that everything was built on _lies_."

She shivered, tears pooling along her lower lids. He felt bad. But she needed to know.

"And all of your dreams, so carefully recorded in your precious diary…"

He stepped forward and cupped his hand around her quivering jaw. She subconsciously leaned into him, desperate for any shred of reality to cling to. Anything to anchor her to what she had been before Derek ripped into her.

"I know them all. I know you. Just accept it."

Silence. The fierce and pounding nothingness echoed through the hallway. He felt everything all at once, but he also felt nothing. He thought his head might explode.

She shook her head. "You didn't answer my question."

He felt a shift in the atmosphere as he prepared to let go, and it wasn't like anything else he had ever felt before. And with a soft, subtle click, deep inside where his heart probably should have been, it made sense. He knew what all of this was about. She was different than Sally, or Amy, or any other girl he had hooked up with. It felt similar, sort of, but he could see the difference. It was less like falling, and more like gravity. It wasn't his choice, but it was just how things were supposed to be. It felt good to be grounded in her atmosphere. Perfect. Right. He felt whole.

He took a shaky breath – shaky down to the depths of his lungs, blackened with the days of his mistakes – and knew he couldn't lie to her anymore. He couldn't pretend. He knew the truth. And he wanted her to know it, too. Which was something that surprisingly hurt him. It shouldn't have, but it did anyway. Nothing new there.

He looked at her, through her, and said it out loud.

"I love you," he said. It was the first time he had said it…but also the first time he'd even thought it. He was never one to think things through and he wasn't about to let Casey take that last piece of his old self away. If he was going to turn into a ridiculous, love-sick Ivanhoe douche than he figured he might as well retain some of his old charm while he was at it. Something to keep her around. On her toes…

He looked up from a dirty spot on the tile and saw her face.

Open, but mostly closed, her heart was obviously resting right on the tip of her tongue.

She didn't know what to do. He understood.

"Don't say anything," he added, holding up a hand. "I just want you to know."

He was disappointed. But he felt like things would be easier. Even if she didn't love him, too – then what he was getting at was something that _really wasn't_ _there_ and everything he thought until that point was bullshit, but – okay. It would all be okay. That would probably mean that he was crazy, or something, and maybe he could get some meds – or it would mean that he was an insane mad scientist kind of genius and he could start creating formulas and postulates – what the hell? _What?_ Okay. He stopped. Best case scenario, she loved him. Worst case scenario, his Benjamin Button-like fantasy was a mental disorder.

He knew he wouldn't forget about her in the next day, or week, or month, or probably even year – years? – to come, but at least he would know that it was only him hurting. He could live alright just as long as he knew that she would move on and be okay.

At least that's what he told himself. And he could live with lying to himself. Just not her. Not anymore. He was done.

* * *

And that's how he told her, he concludes to them.

But that's not the end of the story…is it? They ask.

Of course not, he says. What kind of storyteller would he be if he gave you the climax, but not the ending? You have to know what happens next.

They nod.

Well…he adds, on second thought.

You know what happens next.

The kicker: it's true. They already know everything.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Copyrighted materials do not belong to me. Music belongs to Silversun Pickups.


	6. six

He smiles forlornly, the shadows that the curtains cast over the floor creeping towards his feet. Time is passing. It's moving on, the hands of a clock twisting through their vicious cycle. With or without him, God doesn't care.

Water drips from the faucet in the kitchen into the sink basin. The house creaks, sighing, melting further into the foundation. The earth dries up and cracks under the weight like a suspect under interrogation.

They look at him, their deep-set eyes making one last connection before he blinks and looks away, severing the ties he has built up. Derek Venturi, master in bridge burning expertise, at your service.

"You…love her?" they ask.

"Yes." In a way, he always knew he did.

"But then…"

"Sometimes, love isn't enough."

* * *

"**I forgive you for the truth; I liked you better when you lied. I forgive you being you; because you were better when you faked every smile."**

* * *

Casey stared at him. Her body was tensed, flexed and coiled like a spring, waiting to unleash something – anything – because she assumed he was going to hurt her. Again. He was no good for her, he knew.

He stared at the dirty floor. He stared at the ceiling tiles. He listened to the quiet footsteps of a teacher, shutting their classroom door with a barely audible click, halls away. He looked at her eyes, blue and unforgiving, and just…stopped.

He let go.

Derek thought about what he had done. This in itself was a feat, for he usually did what he wanted without a second thought. Not that he didn't suffer the consequences later. Or regret bringing them upon himself. But…he had told her he loved her. And whether or not it was true, it hadn't been fair of him to dump that on her. He understood that she was the uptight and picky type, and he was the less than perfect type. But he thought it could work. Not the perfect happily ever after, but a close second, maybe.

Not Sam. Not Max. Not Noel. Not even close to Ivanhoe. Just Derek.

He hoped somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind that being just Derek would be okay with her.

"I don't really know what to say," she mumbled. He picked at a loose thread on his belt loop.

"I understand," he told her.

And the kicker –he meant it. He didn't need some drawn out speech of requited love from her. He knew that they didn't and wouldn't ever work that way. He wasn't into sappy crap, and she knew it.

"But…"

He held his breath, even though he knew he had no reason to. There was no point in building himself up, building walls and layers of protection, if he couldn't get hurt.

"You know I can't love you. Or be with you."

His heart stumbled, even though he knew it shouldn't.

"We would never work."

Something clicked, like a gun, but he was too slow to catch on.

"I'm not right for you. _You're _not right for _me_."

There was a boom that echoed through his head. It didn't exist, he knew, because it wasn't supposed to. He said so. And that was how things worked in his world. Always.

" You can't function in a relationship properly…"

Bang. Bang. Bang. Didn't exist.

"…And I can't help you with that."

Bang. Bang. Guns go bang.

"You said yourself you understood."

Silence. There was duct tape stretched over his bursting plastic heart. There was thick, nauseating molasses flooding his lungs. His brain was melting from the acid of his blood.

"So…"

He was a little boy made up of fake parts to parade around in his too-small world. He was a machine pretending to be a man who was breaking through the roof of his plastic dollhouse, crushing the kitchen table and the family dog underfoot.

"I think we shouldn't talk for a while…I can see why this might be difficult, because we live in the same house, but…"

That's why it didn't hurt. He wasn't real. His marble eyes scanned her face, noting a pulsating twitch in her eye. Not real. It didn't hurt. He was made of silicone, of iron, of steel – he was a real modern day man of steel, minus the good parts that Clark Kent managed, Derek was no superman; just a super fuckup.

"We can do it."

She turned her back on him, and somewhere in a parallel universe the real Derek Venturi fell to his knees. But not him. If he was made of steel, he couldn't bend at the knees. It would be physically impossible. Yeah, that was the reason he wasn't falling to pieces…that was it.

His brain never fully developed a complete logic sense, back when he was still sperm or egg or whatever there was probably some stupid malfunction with his genes that made him grow up all backwards and inside out and – he was honestly just _fucked. Up. _

"Bye, Derek," she said quietly. And she left him.

And he closed his eyes and just let go. No steel, no crushed kitchen tables. No broken dollhouse roofs or bursting molasses hearts. Just empty air and nobody, nothing to catch him when he finally, finally hit the ground.

* * *

He

fell

fell

fell…

….

* * *

He had this dream where she was folded up into another boy's arms, and she was over him, and he felt explicitly betrayed. It was an impossible dream. She couldn't get over him if she was never into him.

* * *

He had this dream where she was falling off a cliff into a raging ocean. She disappeared and it hurt like hell. It wasn't supposed to be cold in hell. But then again, everything he ever knew was a lie pretty much, so this didn't surprise him. Even though he was surprised. Fucked up, what? _What?_

* * *

He ate bad chicken and got food poisoning. One night in his half-awake stupor – it had been three days and he hadn't eaten, he was living off of ice chips – he imagined that he saw her staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, the purple glow of the night light racing over her features. He saw the smooth curve of a hipbone before he blinked and he was back in bed.

* * *

He might have been going crazy.

* * *

There was a thick red band on her wrist, a splitting of skin that marred the perfect tan of her forearm, but Casey would never –

She wouldn't –

It didn't make sense –

It was just a bracelet. He's stupid.

It wasn't a bracelet. He's distraught.

It wasn't even there anymore.

* * *

This was new to him. He felt trapped in a cave. He felt stuck and lost among the pages of a stupid book. He hated everything. He picked a flower and threw it to the ground, stomping and grinding it underfoot until the petals were just a stain.

* * *

Mostly, he was sorry.

* * *

He picked a poster off of his wall and took a black sharpie to the exposed white underneath. He wrote her name and crossed it out before taking a hammer and making a hole through the entire spot. He still doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with him.

* * *

In the back of his mind, he set all of his memories on fire and let himself burn.

* * *

At some point, some rational point when his brain wasn't dripping out of his eye sockets, he sat himself down and thought long and hard.

So Casey didn't feel the same way. It wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't as if he hadn't ever been shot down before.

…

Okay, he really hadn't been more than once or twice, MAYBE, but even so-

This was different. But he could deal with it. If he kept repeating this to himself over and over and he could do it. She had been spending a ridiculous amount of time at Emily's, and one night she randomly went to the movies with Kendra and spent the night at her house, but hey – he wasn't really one to question anything. She was doing a spectacular job at avoiding him. He might have deserved it, he might not have-

He probably did-

Whatever. He loved her, he did. But she was right. It wouldn't work. He knew that. He could get over it. He could find someone else.

Not somebody who could replace her, no, never that, but somebody that would be a wonderful distraction.

He was still Derek Venturi, he could at least do that for himself. Anything was better than going crazy like he had been.

* * *

That…was your grand decision? They ask him. That's what you decided to do after all that suffering you put each other through?

Well, yes, he says. What other choice did I have?

You _love_ her, they remind him. As if he needs reminding.

I know, he says. But there's nothing he can do.

Somewhere, God was telling him in his soul, that this was heartbreak. This was what he deserved.

And he knew it wasn't fair.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Music belongs to Every Avenue. Copyrighted materials not mine.


	7. seven

**A/N: **So, um, two years later. Here you go. If anybody is still reading this…I love you. I guess I stopped working on this for a while because it got real #dark real fast and once things fall apart I have a tendency to not want to put them back together. But I'll try. Derek and Casey deserve some type of ending that isn't just Derek angsting it out in an empty hallway.

Also, this chapter has more expletives than the others. So I bumped the rating up to M to be safe. It probably should have been there all along.

00

They know what happens next. Remember that magnificent, fleeting idea he had about distractions? Yep.

His crazy teenage antics suddenly seem not-so-crazy. Well, still crazy, but more well-founded.

Yeah.

* * *

"**My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize; tell me why we live like this?"**

* * *

It'd been a few lengthy weeks of not enough sleep, secret bouts of alcoholism and serious considerations of hopping in the prince and never looking back before Derek understands. Just telling himself to move on wouldn't do jack shit – it was all about the follow through, as any good hockey player would know.

He ran through a list of possible distractions in his head a mile long. And then he realized…

Sally.

The only girl who ever made Casey uncomfortable. Because at some point in his backwards, batshit life, he had loved Sally too. Some point before Casey latched onto his brain like a leech. Some point before he became a sniveling little bitch and fell apart.

He could recall those feelings for Sally if he worked hard enough. And work he would.

Derek was nothing if not a fighter.

It would be simple – get his dad and Nora to agree to letting him drop out, move to Vancouver…get Sally to take him back…

Simple, but not easy. But he had faith in himself. Even if it was misplaced and ultimately going to bite him in his sorry ass.

* * *

He walked through the halls at school with Sam and Ralph. It was easy to pretend like the past few weeks hadn't happened, because Derek was still Derek – mostly – and pretending was an easy feat for a compulsive liar such as he.

He noticed how the warm weather was causing all the girls to wear short skirts, and while he knew he should feel thrilled somewhere in his pants at the prospect of all the ass he could score, he knew that wasn't right. Sort of.

Whatever. Was he a man or a pussy? Huh?

"Yo, D, check out the rack on _her_," Ralph suggested lewdly. Derek glanced at a particularly busty blonde to his left. She smiled and waved at him. His eyes dipped lower. Push-up bra. He was a self-declared breast connoisseur. And besides, Casey's were better, because they were the right size to cup your hand around. They were soft and she sighed perfectly when you brushed your fingers _just so_.

Alright, he had to snap out of it. Derek shook his head. Trying to talk some sense into himself made him feel a little schizophrenic.

His poor, shriveled heart shuddered deep in his chest when his eyes glanced over Casey and Truman. She was so typical, trying to fit in with her teeny tiny shorts. The floral pattern of her top was too beachy for the time of year. One look at Truman's disgusting, dirty hands on her hip made him itch to break something. Like a wall, or his fist on a wall, or, a thought – Truman's face maybe?

"They're way too into each other," Sam commented. Derek shrugged.

"Whatever. I'm sick of hearing about him and seeing her at my goddamn house all the time. I'm just sick of all of this shit."

"I'm just letting you know, every time I look at them, he's all up in her business and she's giggling like a little girl or something, it's some whacked out shit," Sam said. Derek rolled his eyes. He'd had enough of hearing Sam musing on Casey and Truman's relationship.

Enough of seeing Casey's smile on every other girl's face.

Enough of the repeat movie splayed across the back of his mind, her arching towards his hands ever so slightly, breath on his ear.

Enough of reliving his misery every damn day.

Casey leaned in with a smile and kissed Truman, all sunshine and butterflies and flowers while Derek was baking in his own shit like a fucking miserable animal.

"You know what, Sammy?" Derek interrupted his friend.

Sam stopped talking to turn and shoot Derek a blank look at the sudden finality in his voice.

"What, D?"

"I think I miss Sally," Derek stated. Sam blinked.

"I thought you couldn't miss what you never had?"

Both boys' heads whipped towards Ralph. Derek's heart lurched, but only a little bit. He ignored it in favor of smacking his friend upside the head. Ralph winced, but hey. Bitch had it coming.

"Don't be a dick, man. I miss her."

"Really?" Sam asked incredulously. "Casey –"

"Really," Derek blurted. Her name was already seeping in through his eardrums to rot his brain. And he was done with her poison.

Sam looked at Ralph. Ralph looked at Sam. They shrugged.

"Alright. Well what are you going to do about it?"

Derek smirked a little.

"I'm moving to Vancouver."

* * *

"You're planning to do WHAT?"

Derek winced a little at the ferocious undertones in Nora's voice. So far, his plan was hurtling downhill with the speed of a city-sized snowball. And he hadn't even called Sally yet.

"Gee, Nora, don't give yourself a heart attack or something…"

His father crossed his arms in indignation. Oh, boy.

"Derek, don't talk to her that way. Now please, for the love of God, explain to us how you came to the conclusion that moving to Vancouver would do you _any_ good."

He shifted on his feet. This was the hard part: cracking the parental resolve to get what he wanted. Or rather, what he needed. Which was to be as far away as humanly possible from Casey McDonald. Every God that was real had probably given her an extra dose of insanity shitstorm and he had suffered his fair share of exposure.

So he spit it out.

"I'm going to be with Sally."

His father paled and slapped his hands over his face, but Derek held his ground.

"Derek, you can't just drop out of school and pack up your life to go be with a girl."

"It's not like school is really my thing, anyway," he mused.

George frowned. "You should work on _making _it your thing."

"Honey, you might not understand this now, but one day you'll see that you can't mold your life around another person. You have to do what's right for you," Nora pleaded.

Ha. If only she knew.

"Don't call me honey, I'm _really_ not that sweet," Derek smirked.

Nora pressed her hands together in discomfort.

He heard sudden footsteps on the stairs and prayed for Lizzie or Edwin. But screw his luck. He was cursed forever to be plagued by a crazy person with sporadic klutz attacks and rabid self-esteem issues.

"Casey, come here please," George called. The footsteps stumbled slightly.

Derek closed off his face and folded up neatly into himself. He didn't want to look at her, but if he was being honest with himself, he knew he would as soon as she came into his peripherals.

It had been weeks since they'd communicated or even interacted and he was still trying to forget the way her lips pursed before she said something idiotic. He watched her eyes dance between the only mature people in the room before they ripped into him. A small wrinkle in her brow, a slight downturn of her lips, the thick pull of throat muscles when she tried to swallow. He could tell her better than anyone that the air wouldn't help.

"Yes, George?" she said softly.

"Please help us talk some sense into Derek. He's insisting on moving to Vancouver to be with Sally."

Casey's eyebrows shot up somewhere beneath her hairline and her eyes bugged out at him.

"Are you _crazy?_" she blurted. Apparently she had forgotten the awkward tact required between the two of them. "You can't move to Vancouver! Where would you go to school? Where would you live? How would you pay for gas and food and your nervous smoking habit –"

"Wait, what?" George interjected.

Casey held up a hand. "Hush, George. Derek, this is nonsense. This is _crazy!_ You know it's not worth it," she implored. Her hands gripped together and he wished so desperately that it was just the two of them so he could rip them apart and put them on his own skin, anywhere they could reach.

"Back off. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't I? Who do you really think is more knowledgeable here, Derek?"

He blinked. "Uh, obviously Nora."

"Hey!" George reached a hand up.

"Be quiet!" Casey yelled. George stepped back. Nora put a hand on his arm.

Derek eyed Nora with sudden disdain. This was not going how he wanted it to at all. "What, have none of the McDonald children ever caused a problem like this? Have none of you ever wanted to just do what you want because you're sick of all the shit in your life? Huh?"

"No, Derek," Casey said snidely. "None of us have ever wanted to _run away_ from our problems."

His gaze darkened and he lowered his head.

"Casey, sweetheart," Nora tried. Casey stopped in her fuming to glance at her mother. "Please try to keep the meltdowns to a minimum. We already have one child in crisis."

"I'm not a child," Derek muttered. "Forget this." He backed away and turned to sprint up the stairs.

Mission failed. Abort.

So much for that shitty plan. Distraction his ass. His stupid family was too much trouble for it to be even close to worth the effort. He didn't even want to contemplate how hard it would have been to talk to somebody whose heart he had broken.

He slammed the door to his room so hard a framed poster crashed to the floor.

Vaguely, in the distance, he heard Nora call up the stairs.

"So does this mean you've gained some sense and aren't still trying to move to Vancouver?"

* * *

Just because you've explained the reasoning behind your actions, it doesn't make them any more rational, they tell him.

He snorts. Oh, trust him. He knows. There's nothing rational about him. But hey, that's part of the charm, right? Right?

They raise an eyebrow.

* * *

He was laying on his bed listening to music later that night when he heard the gentle breathing outside his door. He knew it was her and it made him sick. He was already frustrated enough with his distraction plan having failed epically. He didn't need her psychotic rage shit intoxicating his room when he was trying to think of ways to salvage it. He looked at a half-packed duffel on the floor and frowned.

"Derek?" A knock sounded through the wood of his door. He grimaced. "Can I come in?"

"No, fuck you."

She ignored him and came inside to sit on the edge of his bed anyway. He snorted to himself. As if she would ever listen to anybody besides fucking Paul or Nora or Truman or something. His blood boiled.

"Get out," he deadpanned.

"No, I want to talk to you."

He sighed and rubbed furiously at his forehead. "What could you possibly have to say to me?"

"Please tell me that duffel bag is for some creepy boy sleepover and not for Sally," Casey said. Her voice was off but he ignored it. He was going to mess with her because she deserved it.

"Actually, it is, and I'm planning on sneaking off in the night to drive to Vancouver in my car and be with Sally forever."

Casey blanched. "What?"

"Or would you rather me say it's for Sam, Ralph and I's monthly 'creepy boy sleepover' where we share underpants and sleep in the same bed? You goddamn crazy lunatic," he shook his head.

"You know what? I'm sick of you calling me names all the time, and mocking me, and being an asshole."

"Really, Casey? Because the last time I checked _you_ were the asshole who left me standing in an empty hallway," he said. His nearly bit his lip off after the words slipped out.

Her eyes began to shine. "Is that what this is really about?"

Oh, hell no. And here he had given her all the necessary tools to think she was some Freudian reincarnation, mind-reading guru who knew everything in the universe.

"No, this is about you being a dumb bitch who is dating an even dumber bitch," he said. Fuck!

Her eyes narrowed.

He watched her carefully. Which caused him to notice, for the first time, her hair pulled back off her bare face to expose the delicate lines of her collarbones in a thin little t-shirt. He gulped and just about shit his pants.

He let his head fall into the backboard with a crack.

"God, would you just get out?" he pleaded. His skull throbbed. She didn't take the hint. He supposed he would have to go for subtle like a slap in the face, then. That seemed to be the only level Casey was capable of perceiving from him.

"I literally want absolutely nothing to do with you, and we both know you don't give two shits about whether I stay here or leave tonight and never come back. You've made that perfectly clear. So get out – I mean it."

Casey was silent and pensive as she watched him.

"Please don't do this," she whispered.

He scoffed. "Do what?"

"Act like this. I know it's not how you really feel."

He wanted to kick her, kiss her, hold her, hurt her, kill her, keep her forever, stab her in the throat, slit his own in misery; he wanted so many different things he thought he might die. He really thought he couldn't take anymore of her. But he had been wrong about so many things in his life.

He reached for her even though he didn't want to. Even though he wanted to but knew he shouldn't. Okay, even though he wanted to and knew she would let him but that it would simultaneously make things even more complicated and ragged.

His hands slipped over the familiar curve of her waist and she sighed so easily into him that he almost didn't understand why she rejected him in the first place. Almost. But the knowledge had stained every inch of him; he would never forget.

Derek pulled her between his legs and over top of him so fluidly that she slid right over him, her shirt doing nothing to help her hide.

Her eyes were painful when she looked into his. He saw too many things he didn't want to identify and didn't exactly care to at that point.

Her face hovered near his and he let his fingers drift over the skin under her waistband.

"I don't know what to do," she tried.

His eyes drifted closed as he pressed her neck to his face and felt her softly.

"Nobody does," he reminded her.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Music belongs to Paramore. Copyrighted materials not mine.


	8. eight

Stop for a second. Think back one hundred, one thousand, one million years. Think about a boy or a girl – much like yourself – and their family. Think about their home, their thoughts, and their lives. Think again about all those years that passed. Think about how it all could be buried right beneath your feet.

You could be standing exactly where someone else stood eons prior. In fact, you probably are. And that person cried tears, felt love, pain, loneliness…maybe even happiness. That person lived and died in a blink of the universe's eye. And nobody cares.

All the lessons learned the hard way, all the nights they stared at the sky wondering who they were and where it all came from. None of it matters.

That will be you, one day. One day, you will be a moment of wonder in a child's head. Maybe your name will be in a textbook. Maybe an old photograph of you will be hidden away in someone's attic. Your bones in the ground, soul locked in a box until eventually it's all dust.

But nobody will really know your story. Nobody will really care. People are inherently selfish that way.

Trust him, he knows.

And he sits in his chair, sips his water, refills his glass. Continues his story.

* * *

**"Keep me under cover, in what could have been."**

* * *

When he woke up x amount of hours later – fuck clocks, who needed time when heartbreak stopped the hands from moving forward and letting you go – he was still in the same position on his bed, the same person with the same problems and the same sadness. Casey's face was tucked into his chest and her hair was splayed from her head in limp pieces.

She was still a bitch, still dating Truman, still never going to be his.

He was still Derek.

Derek, who couldn't get it right. Who was still too backwards and broken to understand what love was like despite how he lectured Casey. Who wanted to have his cake and eat it too without paying first.

He knew the previous night had been a mistake. Or maybe not a mistake, because let's be real – Derek Venturi didn't make mistakes. But it had most definitely been a poor decision. He was already aware of the Casey demons eating his brain but adding in her breathy sighs and naked thighs just added fuel to the fire.

He craved her like a drug and he knew it, too. Which was why he was a fucking idiot. He was never going to get away and let her go if he kept turning around and stumbling right back into her bullshit.

He was the worst kind of drug addict. Sign him up for Intervention. His life would probably make a nice little episode, all the cold sweats and sleepless nights tucked neatly into 60 minutes plus some commercial breaks.

He knew it didn't matter, not really, how many times she shot him down or flipped her hair and walked away from him in the halls at school like she was some stupid princess and he was her bitch. It wouldn't matter if she was always his step-sister or if she dumped Truman and found an even worse dipshit to date. He would still love her. He would still lie awake at night and wonder about her, a million miles away from him. Holding his heart in her puny little fist like she had a real claim over him instead of some psychotic mental hold.

The sun peeked through the cracks in his curtains and kissed her face. It was easy to love her inside his four walls where neither of them could run away, where he was next to positive she would always keep his words safe. He could trust her to hold his heart and still let it beat.

She blinked awake, blue eyes like dusky sky staring right through him.

He would always love her. But he would never tell her again.

He thought idly of that one time they watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button together. His warped theories about their lives intersecting and exploding like a hypernova – a brief love affair, his Benjamin to her Daisy – until the glow faded and they were forever moving away from each other.

She tried a cautious smile and he wrapped a tentative hand around her waist.

Him and her in the aftermath. Casey's bones where there should have been flesh. The ghost of her kiss wrapping around his mind like a shroud, choking him and driving him further into the dark. A hypernova of hope bursting in his ribcage.

His daisy. His. But never again.

* * *

He's nearing the end. The end that could make or break him, them, her, break everything into a

million

little

pieces.

Break his heart for good. It's tired of beating. He takes a shaky breath and continues.

Only for a little while longer.

* * *

The typical party animal he was, he heard about Toronto before anybody else. Except maybe Truman, but that douche somehow knew everything – he was just that creepy. He heard Casey panicking when he brushed past her in the hall: "What will I wear!" "What will I tell my mom!" "How will we get there?!"

So obnoxious he couldn't even stand it. Really, he couldn't.

His arm brushed her gently, completely on accident. She stopped mid panic attack and glanced at him. A strange flush colored her cheeks and a slight quivering of her fingers in his direction let him know she still remembered. He smirked and continued forwards, content that she always would.

He almost ran straight into Sam who was, incidentally, watching Casey and turned to him with a knowing look.

"D, what did you do," he deadpanned. Derek shrugged innocently.

"Not really sure what you're referring to."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Girls don't get twitchy like that over nothing."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "When did Casey become a girl? As far as I'm concerned she's a…a moldy shoe."

"A moldy…"

Derek winced.

"First of all, shoes don't mold. Naturally. Second of all, I didn't even say Casey's name, you brought her up first. So now I know something happened, and you have to tell me."

Derek clenched his fist. "Fine. We hooked up, it was stupid. The end."

Sam's eyebrows shot up somewhere in his hairline. Derek was the biggest fucking idiot in the world. He would never hear the end of this now. And how fucking old was he, thirteen? 'Hooked up'? Like he maybe kissed her neck a little bit and she fake-moaned and he promised he would call her? He and Casey did not hook up. They...

No. He wasn't gonna go there. He shivered a little. A little like a little bitch.

"When you say hooked up…"

Fucking shit dick, fire in his asshole –

"We had sex," Derek murmured.

He pictured the smooth curvature of Casey's ass.

Nope, definitely not cool in the middle of a crowded school hallway.

"You did not!" Sam stopped abruptly.

"Actually, buddy, I did," Derek corrected. Sam had the decency to keep any lewd remarks to himself and instead crossed his arms. A puzzled look crossed his face.

"She cheated on Truman. With her stepbrother. What are you guys going to do?"

Derek shrugged. He didn't know what to say. He had a nagging feeling that Casey wouldn't know what to say either.

"Bury it."

* * *

He let Casey find her own goddamn ride home from school and trolled around the local gas station for a while. He may or may not have chain smoked for a bit. He may or may not have felt like a badass chain smoking in his leather jacket.

But he definitely felt like something bad was going to happen, like the universe taking a giant metaphorical shit on his life for everything that'd been happening with Casey. He could feel the bad omens in the air like moisture after rain.

He had sex with his stepsister.

Who was in a committed relationship.

Who was also a neurotic, OCD psycho.

God, he was in so in love with her it hurt. So in love with her. In love. Love, love, love. Or.

Or maybe he was infatuated with her and that was it. Was he really going back to this argument with himself?

He thought of all the times he had thought of her hair as stringy or her eyes as shallow and murky. Her intelligence forced and desperate or her dancing pathetic. He thought of these things, but he couldn't force the thoughts to stick. He was just so done, 200 percent done with everything, he just. No.

When he finally got around to driving home he found Nora and Casey sitting in the living room. Nora was clearly wearing her angry pants and Casey was trying to negotiate…something. He sucked in a breath – the shit storm was about to start, courtesy of the universe, with a nice whopping side of 'fuck you!' from his conscience. He could smell the grimy, pre-party wind blowing from Toronto.

He tried to make a run for the stairs, and nobody could blame him for trying. But Nora was a tricky bitch.

"Derek, wait please," she called. He winced and turned back to face her. She had clearly tried to mask her annoyance with something sweet but she couldn't fool him. He was the master of foolery.

"Can't, I have homework."

Even Casey turned and gave him an incredulous look at that.

"While I appreciate the devotion to your studies, I actually have a favor to ask of you," Nora smiled.

Oh, hell no.

Casey blanched. "Mom, no – "

"Derek, do you want to go to a party in Toronto with Casey this week?" she interrupted.

Derek closed his eyes. Fuck it all.

"Sure, why not! I was planning on going anyway, why not take the family dog out to play too," he added snidely. He rolled his eyes at the way his heart lurched. He knew Casey and Nora took it as a sign of defiance.

"Asshole," Casey shot at him.

"Knock it off right now or neither of you can go," Nora threatened. They both shut their mouths.

Nora eyed them and left the room.

Casey turned to him.

"If you so much as TRY to ruin my night with Truman…"

"Please," he snorted. "Like you're that important to me."

She managed to mask her hurt impressively fast. He hadn't meant to say that, but sucks. He was unfortunately the type of person who didn't mean a lot of things.

"We'll leave tomorrow at 8. I don't want to be late, so no messing around."

She turned to leave and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

* * *

It was a typical house party. He was well versed in how to pick up the girls, get them to hike up their skirts when their favorite songs came on, get them to pour another drink. His mind briefly flitted back to a party, months ago, when Casey was drugged and he didn't realize what was going on with them. Which, although making his heart hurt, inevitably makes him think of Casey more. Which is exactly the opposite of what he wanted to achieve tonight.

His face was buried in some rando's neck when he spotted Truman and Vicky chatting away in a corner.

Vicky used to be cute to him, once. Because she looked like Casey. In reality she was…kind of a bitch. He was enough of an asshole himself that he didn't need someone else adding onto it. He didn't care for her either way, anymore.

But judging from the way Truman was staring at her, he certainly did. He wondered idly where Casey was, but instead tried to focus on the blonde grinding into his pelvis – Amy, Ally, Alicia, whatever.

But his eyes always drifted back to them, curious. Wondering just what would happen if Truman slipped a little closer. Wondering what would happen if Casey walked in and saw them, their bodies angled so intimately and Truman's eyes on her cousin so perversely. Wondering what would hurt worse – Truman and Vicky, or Derek and Unknown Blonde.

He looked up again in time to see their faces crash together. And he knew it was done.

He watched in slow motion, internal film reel slowing down to capture every single delectable moment as Casey magically entered the room at exactly the wrong moment – funny how life worked that way – and saw her boyfriend kissing her cousin. He expected to see heartbreak on her face, maybe some tears, but instead she somehow found his eyes and the blank look she gave him let him know she was mostly just…done. With Truman, with him, with herself.

He knew, with one look, that she didn't care. It hurt a little bit like a bee sting or the ripping of a band-aid, sand scratches on sunburn, but he knew that deep down she had always expected Truman to hurt her. She expected a lot of hurt in her life. It was something that had always made him angry.

She walked out of the door.

Derek moved towards Truman. If Casey wasn't going to give him a piece of her mind then he was. His heart was going to explode with adrenaline, he had been dying for this, aching and waiting for weeks upon weeks, Truman and his stupid comments about flowers and navy on the first date and Casey with her tentative smile and hopeful eyes, dancer's legs sitting on the couch but he couldn't touch, always about him Derek/Casey/Truman/love/lust/sex/hypernova -

He punched him in the face so hard his knuckle split. "Fuck you." Vicky squeaked and covered her mouth with her hands, kohl eyes wide but not exactly apologetic. Truman on the floor.

"You never wanted Casey. You never cared, and she's never going to speak to you again. You deserve the worst of what's coming to you." Like maybe an eighteen wheeler to the ribcage. Maybe fire in his heart or a knife to his heartstrings. Anything to make him fucking understand, to see. But Truman never would.

Derek stumbled through the throngs of people – guys groping girls wearing too much makeup and perfume, drinks sloshing – and found Casey walking in circles around a lamppost. A lonely moth of a girl aching for the light.

"Hey," he called to her. She looked over at him but didn't stop moving. He watched her face for a second before walking towards her. Something irreparable had been done here, but he didn't know how to isolate it. Didn't know how to help her. Which hurt more than he thought it would.

"I told Truman off," he said. Understatement. She snorted.

"Great. Do you want a medal?" He narrowed his eyes. Who the fuck pissed in her mixed drink?

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of a gold star. I'm more of a sticker guy."

"Screw you, Derek."

His hands balled into fists. After the nasty concoction of feelings he had just endured for her...

"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "I'm not the one that cheated on you with your cousin," he reminded her.

Casey scoffed. "Whatever. I knew it was coming. I knew he was an asshole. I should have walked away weeks ago."

"Then why didn't you?" Derek wondered aloud.

Casey finally stopped in her mindless pacing and stared at him.

"Because I was in denial."

Bingo. The denial club was accepting applications. He knew.

"He was a total dick, and you stayed with him, even though…" he trailed off.

She thrust her chin into the air.

"Don't act like you're so special, like you're so different. You're all the same. You would have done exactly what Truman did, sooner or later."

He pictured her face, soft and fragile and open underneath him. He felt the phantom planes of her skin underneath his sweaty palms, late at night in a moment that would never come back. He contrasted that girl with the one in front of him and it didn't work.

Derek watched her for a minute. And then he decided he would be the one to let go. He was going to be the first to walk away, because fuck – if she wanted to accuse him of being that guy, then he was going to be that guy.

So he turned on his heel and ripped his car keys from his pocket. It was time for him to go home and sleep this fucking nightmare off. Even if it took the rest of his life.

It only took a few seconds for her to realize what she had done. To realize the gravity of the unspoken decision she had forced him to make.

"Derek!"

He turned in his angry steps to see Casey, stupid bitch that she was, trailing after him in a loping jog. She looked incredibly awkward for a dancer and he snorted before increasing his pace.

"Derek, stop," she tried.

Oh, now she wanted to talk? Now she cared?

"Fuck off," he deadpanned. She was free to run back to her simpering shit dick of a boyfriend. Truman was garbage, and she knew it.

"He's not garbage," Casey spat.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?"

"Knock it off! Stop walking and just _look_ at me!" Casey yelled.

Derek spun on his heels to see her seething face. He felt something deep inside his chest start to hurt and he recognized the burn of anger before he registered the words spewing out of his mouth. He always had been damn terrible with self-control.

"No, fuck you, I'm not going to stop walking away and look at you – you fucking ignorant _child_ – because you don't deserve a chance to be heard out, I don't want to listen to your bullshit lies and your uneducated defense of that asshole. You're blind to everybody but yourself even though you think you're not and it pisses people off and you don't care."

She stepped away. He moved towards her anyway, just to make her skin itch, finger shaking in her face.

"You have no idea what it means to have somebody's back no matter what – physically, emotionally, it doesn't matter. You'd give anything for them because you always want them safe. You wouldn't care if they were ugly or fat or klutzy or had a knack for being an absolute fuckwad. Because you love them. You, Casey, have no fucking idea what love is.

"You're a shallow waste of space and I can't believe…" He chuckled darkly. "I can't believe I ever…"

He swallowed hard. He saw her eyes glassy and shaking but he ignored the regret.

"You don't give anything a chance if you don't understand what you'll gain from it. But here's a newsflash, you spoiled brat – not everything is about you. Not everything benefits _you." _

There was a weird buzz in his head that let him know he was dangerously close to describing himself. He watched her face, dumbfounded into silence for what must have been the first time in her life. He was sick with the self-hatred that he was beginning to feel from his own accusations.

"But you love me," she said blankly. Idly assuming in her ignorance that he would stick around after she had told him he had no reason to. Thinking that her silence and passing glances were enough for him to cling to in the aftermath of her leaving. But she had never really left, no, because she was always in his head – just like she always had been. So in a way she was right. But there was no way he was going to let her win.

And he had been telling himself for days, weeks, months, forever, that he was done with it, so done. How many words did two people have to spit at each other to make it clear they had nothing? How many words did he have to string together in his head to believe it?

He let out a puff of air into the silence.

"I did say that, didn't I? Funny how many things a person can say they don't mean."

A strange look crossed over her face – it was as if she wanted to feel sad but knew she didn't have the right to, not after the way she had treated him. He was lying to her, of course, but he would do anything for the vindication he desperately sought. Even break her heart like she had broken his.

The kicker: it didn't make him feel better. But at least it made him feel.

* * *

And that night, that was the end. He stands from his seat. His story was done.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Music belongs to Digital Daggers. Copyrighted material not mine.

**A/N:** One last chapter after this. I don't know why it takes me half a year to update. If you're reading this then you are incredible. And patient.


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